


Praxis

by Ratters



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Bisexual Angel Dust, Bisexuality, Charlie and Vaggie are just friends, Charlie's Angel, CharlieDust, Crack Relationships, Drug Addiction, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Helluva Boss (Mentioned), Mentioned Characters, No Infidelity/No Cheating, Original Antagonist(s), Original Character(s), Past Drug Addiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26177089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratters/pseuds/Ratters
Summary: After a close call with death, Charlie and Angel Dust begin to realize that they are more fond of each other than they thought prior. Meanwhile, various details that emerge from the incident begin to speak of an insidious presence that might just seek to influence the structure of Hell as a whole.Angel Dust, now rethinking his actions and taking stock of the relationships in his life, may have no choice as to whether or not he becomes involved in what stands in stark contrast to what the Princess of Hell believes.
Relationships: Alastor & Husk & Niffty (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust & Charlie Magne, Angel Dust & Cherri Bomb (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust & Fat Nuggets (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust & Niffty (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust & Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust/Charlie Magne, Charlie Magne & Vaggie
Comments: 55
Kudos: 98





	1. North Pentagram

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hazbin Hotel belongs to Vivziepop**
> 
> This story is in dedication, and with thanks to, **DrawMeAPonyNamedBob** and **itanatsu-chan** , individuals on DeviantArt who have given me inspiration to write this story through their work!

_You’re not as smart as you think you are._

The words come in the voice of his father: cold, stern, and hinting of a slight annoyance at the behavior being observed.

Angel Dust knows them quite well, but his familiarity isn’t in the phrasing, rather the tone that is associated with them. It was in those moments, from what is a literal lifetime ago, he’d often first respond with a sneer as such a gesture was well practiced on his part, and then usually followed with some snide words at his father’s judgement.

His old man had always lacked a sense of humor… but the sentiment is one that the spider demon currently struggles to disagree with.

The foreign object lodged in his left leg makes it a struggle to think up a perspective he may have argued.

His movement has been hindered, so much so that he’s been forced to drag his sorry ass across broken pavement, any sense of pride having quickly vanished upon his leg giving out and bringing him down with it. Just prior, in spite of his injury, he’d managed to find some success with hobbling along at a reasonable pace, but when things went to shit, they went so _spectacularly_. ~~~~

Yet there’s an unusual sense of clarity in his mind at present.

With so many bad choices having been taken over the past few days, he strongly suspects the current situation is a ‘comeuppance’ for his increasingly mounting stupidity. After all, it’s _his_ fault that the possibility of death has become very real over the past hour, with the ways it could happen being numerous and gruesome.

The most immediately obvious being a risk of bleeding out.

How did it get to this point?

Alright, fine, he’ll admit to not being ‘perfect’ and maybe… maybe _not_ the ‘smartest’ either, but surely there was a moment where he should have known to slam on the brakes...?

_Probably before ya’ died and ended up in Hell, stupid?_

Okay, that sounds about right…

Not far ahead of him there is the frame of a vehicle, long since burn out and rusted, and he begins to pull himself a little faster towards it. In comparison to simply being out in the open, it would be relative safety, and therefore a place he could take a moment to collect himself…

…or at least, as best as he presently _could_ , anyway.

Momentarily pausing, with a quick glance placed over his shoulder, Angel Dust reaches what he thinks was a formerly high-end car. He crawls around it before pressing his back to it, listening for anything that might of immediate concern and wish to do him harm.

When no such danger presents itself, he lets out an exhale, the pistol that is currently being held in one of his right hands feeling less heavy than a moment before.

_Thank fuck…_

As far as he can tell, it appears that the assailants that had been trying to smoke him and Cherri had broken off after the initial ambush and sequential exchange of bullets and bombs that took place. The entire chain of events is still very much a haze, a blur of random moments that he can just barely string together for the purpose of trying to make sense of what the Hell happened.

In the heat of it, a voice in the back of his mind had been yelling out warnings and saying that there was something very _off_ about the attack. He still can’t place what exactly brought out those bad feelings, but it’s not the time or place to really think about it or who might have been responsible.

_…was it Val?_

Angel Dust swallows.

He’s been avoiding his boss, sure, but he doesn’t believe Valentino would have him killed simply for that… well, maybe not _just_ for that.

No, the moth demon wouldn’t send that many men, and it wouldn’t be with an order to _kill_ but one that held instructions to _retrieve._ Angel knows how his Overlord tended to operate and, more specifically, how he liked to punish those serving under him for their transgressions…

_A knuckle smooths itself across his cheek, the smell of smoke heavy in the air—_

Not here. Not now.

He shifts his eyes to the wound in his leg, scowling as he sees red soaking into his fur in the space right above where his boot ends. The decision to forgo a skirt had led to him replacing the item with small black shorts, the internal reasoning at the time being easier movement due to the difference in material, but he had still kept his signature pink and white jacket…

…which he notices has a small blossoming of red on one side.

“FUCK!” he hisses loudly, reaching down to find the source.

Had he taken a bullet in his torso? He can’t recall an exact moment where it might have happened, and surely he would have noticed _beyond_ the stain from the blood if that were the case. Unlike his more palpable injury, which if he had to guess was the result of a ‘bounce’, the newly discovered second is more than likely due to having been grazed at some point.

Because again, he would have been far worse off at the moment otherwise.

He raises the fabric of his jacket up, finding confirmation to his theory.

It’s good news, which all things considered he _needs_ right then, but he can’t help but feel a level of misery as he realizes that the item of clothing is ruined. No amount of money or dry cleaning would restore it to original condition, and he can’t help but imagine the headache of having to find another just like it…

Assuming he survives to get the opportunity to do so.

“Fuck…” he utters more softly.

There’s surprisingly not a lot of pain running through his system given the projectile buried in his flesh, probably because his adrenaline is presently fighting it off. Regardless, it wouldn’t last, and he knows that he needs to get whatever was in there out as soon as possible so he could properly attend to it.

But for now, he presses two free hands to it.

As he does so, he considers whether Cherri had made it back to where she had stashed her motorcycle, having lost track of her during the middle of the sudden chaos coming from the violent exchange.

She wouldn’t abandon him outright… but did that mean she’d wait around to see if he also showed up?

_Fat fuckin’ chance…_

Grim as the thought was, it’s more than likely the truth, but not because the female cyclops did so out of malice.

They were in North Pentagram after all, and with amount of light rapidly fading, any sane individual still around would be currently focused on leaving or finding shelter before night fully set in. For anyone who failed to do so, either due to stupidity or for some other reason, it would most likely mean feeding into deadly consequences that were heavily associated with this part of the city…

…and yet here he was, injured, alone, and still out the open despite his crude cover.

Numerous derelict buildings surround Angel in all directions, going on for blocks and blocks with streets that seemed devoid of life.

He’s vaguely aware of what happened to this district of Hell’s metropolis, really only so from the ramblings of drunks and the rare small talk from clients who had been in this side of the afterlife well before he had ever arrived.

Something about an Overlord succession crisis that had been followed by particularly bad Extermination Day that very same year… and then Warlords fighting over the ashes while destroying most of what still stood intact.

The regular residents had long since left, driven out by the constant attrition and resulting destruction, now leaving only those crazy enough to squat or unable to function elsewhere to make up a population in an area that practically did its best to live up to the label of ‘condemned’.

If Angel Dust recalls correctly, they weren’t fond of demons wandering in from outside it either…

The silence begins to feel a bit too ominous then, and he reaches into the pocket on his jacket that contains his Hellphone to retrieve it, then turning on the screen.

To his immediate irritation, he sees that the battery is barely retaining any charge, a result of his neglect from not attending to it.

Yet another mistake coming to bite him in the ass at the opportune moment of time. Briefly, he is able to imagine his father giving him a look of contempt before shaking his head in disapproval at the errors that had brought him there…

_Screw off, ya’ old bastard!_

Now he has to be careful with its usage, as his phone would likely turn off with the strain of making a call or two, and simply turning on the screen is already pushing his luck. With this in mind, he pursues the most obvious course of action.

He opens his contacts, choosing Cherri’s name out of the list and presses the button to make a call to her.

In was seems like the first mercy he has been granted that day, after glancing around, he is aware of street signs that have withstood the standard decay of the surrounding area. Letters, despite their age and the decreasing visibility of oncoming night, are readable. At the very least, he’d be able to tell the demoness where to find him so that perhaps she could-

The phone goes straight to voice mail.

What obscenities emerge from the spider demon are those that he saves for situations where he feels that he’s being _especially_ fucked over, and he hangs up in anger. It is in that moment that he hates everything and everyone, and silently asks why, of all the sinners in Hell, of all the assholes who actively screwed others in the last life and this one, he is apparently being made to suffer _more_.

He’s not asking for things to be _sunshine_ and _blowjobs_ , but why did it _all_ seem to be going to shit now!?

_Breathe, fuckhead… breathe…_

The phone is pressed to his forehead as he closes his eyes and follows the advice. After a moment, he regains composure.

He isn’t helping himself by having a meltdown – he needs to _think_ , and then _ac_ t if he wants to get out of this. The pain in his leg is starting to feel a bit more intense, a sign that his body’s natural numbing response is starting to fade.

Returning his attention to his contact list, he eyes another specific choice:

_Valentino._

Oh, his boss would come get him.

It’s something Angel is quite sure of even _if_ the Overlord was furious with him for recent ‘misdeeds’, but it potentially wouldn’t be for hours depending on Val’s mood, and by such a time, he would have probably bled out or bought it some other way.

And there might not be much left of him if the rumors of cannibalistic locals were true...

Not that the behavior of demons consuming each other itself was _that_ uncommon, but those practicing it in North Pentagram were described to be more animalistic than the average sinner who merely _looked_ the part.

But if Val came around, and his suspicion about him being the one to hire the gunmen that were responsible for his current situation to begin with was correct… then it would simply be the porn star purposely choosing suicide.

Idly, Angel begins to flick up and down his contact list as he considers his options.

He could try for Cherri again, hope that she would pick up after another attempt. There is also the idea of calling someone less familiar but perhaps inclined to exchange a promised ‘favor’ for help…

…how much longer would his phone actually last regardless of the next decision he made? The sliver of red in the battery icon isn’t very reassuring, and at the back of his mind he knows his time is running out with second that passes.

A name on the list that grabs his attention, and as his thumb hovers over it, he suddenly feels a wave of negativity and awfulness.

_Charlie._

_Afta’ what ya’ did… there’s no way._

It had been a particularly bad hangover, ultimately intermixed with a lack of sleep, that had been what could be called the ‘catalyst’ for all his recent missteps. He had gone off on Hell’s Princess, his acting landlord, all because she had tried to reach out to him. Something within his fucked-up perception had read her efforts to see if he was alright as _condescension_ , and it had pushed him over the edge.

And of course, Vaggie had been there and responded to his shitty behavior with fury and ire.

Vividly, the spider demon recalls Charlie just watching them exchange insults, and the memory of her expression makes him feel something unfamiliar that he struggles to put a name to but knows that his words and actions were without question crass.

He knows he’s a piece of shit.

The aftermath of his anger had been him retrieving Fat Nuggets and storming out the front doors of the Happy Hotel, one final remark passing from his lips that had been born out of bitterness and resentment.

_“I don’t need ya’ fuckin’ hotel! And no one fuckin’ asked ya’ dumb broads ta’ save us!”_

He had gone to Cherri’s place, asking to crash.

It had been a long night that had followed, and as he had stared at the ceiling while absently listening to Nuggs snoring, he had played the day’s event over and over.

In doing so, he had been left with only questions:

Why? Why had he felt the need to self-destruct like that? Why did he have to lash out at those around him in the process when those very same people had been nothing but nice to him…?

Sure, there were times where Charlie’s kindness and bubbly attitude did _slightly_ annoy him, but he knew she was being genuine, and she had only been wanting to see if he was alright…

…and he had yelled at her, cursed at her, and then left to spite her kindness.

Calling her feels like it would be a waste of time, as it only seems right that she would simply leave him to suffer the consequences of his actions. If not by her own judgement, then Vaggie would convince her that the spider demon was too far gone and not worth their efforts to try and redeem.

It had been made _perfectly_ clear in his last interaction with them as he had departed.

And yet… something presses him to tap her name and make the call despite all the negatives, all the doubts, as if something in his instincts is telling him that he _needs_ to.

Just for the sake of it, perhaps. He raises his phone to his head, and swallows apprehensively.

The phone rings… and rings… and rings… but there is no answer, and the voicemail starts to speak instead.

_“Uh… hi! You’ve reached Charlie… S-sorry I wasn’t here to get your call, but if you leave me a message, I’ll try to get back to you. Sorry again!”_

Angel Dust’s heart sinks.

There’s such a temptation to hang up, and as the call begins to record for his response, he struggles to answer.

Honestly, why had he chosen to reach out to her? He has to be the dumbest motherfucker in all of Hell…

…but again, something unknown prompts him to make the effort, even if a large part of his own mind is loudly yelling at him that he’s an idiot for even doing so.

He begins to talk:

“…Charlie… it’s Angel Dust. I need… I need ya’ help…

* * *

_“…Charlie… it’s Angel Dust, I need… I need ya’ help… There’s ah’ fuckin’ bullet lodged in my leg… I’m bleedin’ bad, and I’m stuck in… in North Pentagram… and… and I think I’m royally fucked, but there are some street signs that still have tha’ names on them… Perdition and Good… Perdition and Good Intentions Street. I can’t walk, Charlie, I think I’m so… so fucked here, and I’m going ta’ fuckin’ die... I don’t deserve this from ya’, but I wanna’ ask ya’ fa’ one last thing. Could… could you tell Cherri ta’ look after Fat Nuggets fa’ me? She’ll take good care of-”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I am aware of canon relationships.**   
>  **I am aware of canon sexualities.**
> 
> Vivzie has publicly stated that she doesn't mind who you ship who with, further I have tagged this specifically with "Bisexual Angel Dust" and "Charlie and Vaggie are just friends".
> 
>  **1/29/2021:** Revised


	2. Sobering Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recalling his first meeting with Charlie, Angel Dust begins to believe that dying in the current bleak situation is an inevitability...

_Fuck, he needs sleep…_

_Granted, he should have probably gone to bed hours ago, but Valentino had sprung a sudden meeting with a client on him which – unsurprisingly – had a designated rendezvous time that was well after midnight._

_Inconvenient and as much as a pain of the ass as it may have been, Angel Dust couldn’t say no to his boss…_

_…he DEFINETLY couldn’t say no to his boss._

_Regardless of the dynamic he holds with his Overlord, he’s glad that the ‘date’ is now over, the money paid in full, and by the fact that he could go back to Porn Studios and see Fat Nuggets. It feels like he’s been neglecting his pet pig of late due to a taxing work schedule, and some snuggling time with the little bastard would set everything right while helping his own mood._

_Exhaustion gnaws at his senses, various aches mirroring his prior sentiment as he once more counts the bills in hand for what is an instance that is probably close to ten in terms of how many times he’s already done so. It’s a behavior born out of habit… or rather, mistake, and he only occasionally glances up to ensure his path is clear as he reaffirms the amount he was given is correct._

_Other demons tended to shove when bumped into, even if it was by accident._

_As the he moves to round a corner, a flash of blonde within his peripheral catches his attention._

_At this hour, the streets of Pentagram City tended to be mostly empty, but across the road Angel Dust spots a lone demoness with long hair and dressed in a distinct red formal business jacket. Her body blocks his view from the current angle, her back directly to him, but he can see that she’s fussing over something unknown on the wall of a nearby building._

_He pauses for a moment, briefly observing her, but ultimately decides it’s not worth his time to attempt to discern an answer as to her focus beyond what he can see from his current position._

_It’s hard to care, really, and the majority of the sinner population preferred to be left alone anyway, so he continues to walk… only to have the shoulder of a tall, red skinned and horned demon strikes his in passing._

_He momentarily stumbles from the impact but regains his balance quickly. However, one of the larger currency notes slips from his grasp and gets caught in a gust of wind before beginning to fly away._

_Shit!_

_“Watch it, faggot!”_

_Normally, there’d be a quick retort coming from his lips to the growled slur and the act of spitting on the ground that had preceded it, but he’s focused on tracking the lost money with his eyes. He can’t afford to lose any of the client’s payment or Val would get on his ass about it._

_Prior experience has taught him that the moth demon pimp tended to favor accusations of withholding funds when his workers came up short. Punishment for such was usually forced overtime until the amount was made up._

_And that wasn’t including the ‘interest’._

_Angel Dust grits his teeth, and pursues the currency as it floats along…_

_…only to end up straight behind the blonde woman on the other side of the street._

_Strangely enough, she fails to notice his approach as he moves to bend down and retrieve the lost funds. From his new distance, he can now tell it’s an informational poster of sorts she is fretting over. Several others like it are plastered on the wall surrounding the one currently holding her attention._

_On it, he can read the words, ‘HAPPY HOTEL’, printed in large yellow letters against a background of dark pink and red, and takes notice of the phrase ‘For Demons Seeking Something Better!’ towards the bottom. A few of the posters have different slogans, but they all appear to be related to a concept of self-improvement or just general ‘feel good’ type shit. There’s an address also, albeit in smaller text, and he vaguely connects it to an old building from his knowledge of parts of Pentagram City._

_As he stands behind her, looking at what he perceives to be an act of over advertising for yet another establishment specializing in specific form of hedonistic indulgence, she finally takes notice of his presence._

_Wide dark eyes fixate on him, a subtle but still noticeable jump in her movements saying he must have startled her with his unseen approach._

_“A-ah! I didn’t see you!”_

_A bit more polite than what he’s used to or would even expect, but why complain about it?_

_Holding up the recovered increment of payment, he shakes it slightly for the purpose of gesturing. “Just gettin’ some lost scratch that slipped away. Didn’t mean ta’ scare ya’.” He glances over her shoulder at the slightly crooked poster that probably wouldn’t survive the elements for very long._

_If he’s already gone this far, he might as well ask…_

_“Happy Hotel? What’s that all about?”_

_It’s impossible to miss the wide smile of joy that appears on her face, as if she’s been waiting her whole life for his question or one just like it. The positivity that seems to radiate from her as a result of his single action slightly throws him off, and he blinks as she begins to talk._

_“The Happy Hotel! I’m starting it for sinners who want to be better, to change – to maybe find redemption!”_

_Redemption? What in the-_

_“It’ll be free to stay at for anyone looking to change their ways! Hopefully, with enough work, we can really show people that together we can-”_

_Free? Now that was… interesting._

_He doesn’t hear much more of her explanation, admittedly, chalking a lot of it up to craziness or perhaps the idea that she might be whacked out on some good shit he’s never heard of. A lot of what he catches, including something about being let into Heaven in connection to the yearly cleanse, makes him wonder how strong it is and where he could get some of it for himself. But the prior word pertaining to the cost, specifically the lack thereof, of residing at the hotel piques his curiosity._

_It’d be a means to get away from the Studio and Val’s immediate reach when he wasn’t working. Perhaps being somewhere that his boss didn’t know about and wouldn’t be able to have easy access to him, would force the moth Overlord to ease up a bit._

_“Ya’ don’t say,” he responds when she finishes her explanation, peeking over at the poster once more. “That sounds…”_

_Fucking insane._

_Hella’ Stupid._

_Dumb as fu-_

_“…different,” Angel Dust finishes. “What, ah, does a fella’ have ta’ do in order ta’ stay there?”_

_She beams at him, the interest he expresses in her apparent ‘self-help’ sounding joint apparently being enough to make her mood soar through the clouds. “No vices, and no sinning. It’ll help show that those checking into the hotel are serious about it. And if we get a few people… then we’ll be able to start spreading a message of change!”_

_Yeesh. Maybe this is more trouble than it was worth…_

_…but… it was STILL free._

_“Well, tell ya’ what, toots,” he says, a well-practiced grin that flashes gold in her direction, “Maybe I’ll come check this place out if I’m eva’ in tha’ neighborhood. I’m always searchin’ fa’ something a bit different ta’ break up the days and nights.” He glances once again at the hotel’s advertisement. “Might be worth lookin’ into.”_

_“Really? You will?”_

_Well, he had said ‘maybe’, not that he would definitely show up, but at her flush of happiness from his suggestion alone that is so obvious and observable, her eyes sparkling in the meanwhile, he hears himself respond with a ‘promise’ that is near automatic._

_Which makes him kick himself mentally right after._

_She gives him a nod, still showing signs of positive emotion, but her eyes then seem to lose focus as her thoughts turn elsewhere._

_“Oh,” she says gently, “I never introduced myself. I got all caught up with you asking about the hotel.” A nervous laugh leaves her, her over cheery persona apparently fading a somewhat as she extends her hand. “Charlie.”_

_He meets it with his lower right and shakes. “Angel Dust… call me Angel, honey, most usually do.”_

_A mutual smile is shared between them as their grasp lingers, only breaking a few seconds later once an unknown voice calls out._

_“Charlie!”_

_Turning his head, Angel Dust sees another demoness walking towards them._

_She’s shorter than Charlie, her appearance being influenced by a moth from what he can discern, and even though it may have been a rather quick judgement on his part, something tells Angel that she was not of the same mood or outlook on life as the woman he had just met._

_White bangs, which pair with a dress that is a part of an ensemble of similar color, hide the left side of her face as her one visible eye focuses on her blonde counterpart. Underneath her arm, from what he can see, is presumably more advertisement posters for the Happy Hotel._

_“Hon, you wandered off again,” she says once close enough, “I’m sure you’re eager to get these up, but we can probably cover more ground if we coordinate a little more.”_

_“Vaggie, oh, I’m so sorry…” An apologetic pout forms on Charlie’s face, which is then followed by a quick return of what now appears to be a regular positive demeanor. “You’re right though – I just feel so pumped now that we’ve got a way to actually let people know about the hotel!”_

_‘Vaggie’, responds to the other girl’s explanation with a look of fondness. It was obvious that they had a relationship of some kind, but the degree of which Angel isn’t entirely sure of by what he can immediately read off them._

_Perhaps they’re just friends… or perhaps he is looking at a pair of lovebirds who were mad crazy about one another but kept it on the sly…_

_As he ponders the potential answer, Charlie’s companion takes full notice of the spider demon. Her gaze fills with immediate suspicion, which is also quite audible when she speaks: “Who’s this?”_

_The protective type, eh?_

_It would play into the theory he has about them, and putting that aside, he can’t help but feel that she is the type who would be fun to prod in order to get a reaction or two out of. This mindset, and the way she currently looks at him with is probably disapproval, influences him enough that he gives into the temptations that brings about his next few actions and words._

_He smirks, giving her an exaggerated bow and a suggestive wink. “Angel Dust, babe. And I’m guessin’ ya’ must be Charlie’s squee-”_

_“Friend,” she interrupts, placing a hand on her hip and giving him an unamused look. “Why are you talking to her?”_

_Just friends then? He would have bought the other possible scenario but no harm, no foul. “She was just tellin’ me about her joint, sweetheart. Sounds like a good time.”_

_Vaggie squints at him, apparently not fond his manner of talking and the background sarcasm he puts into his words. His intent to tease or provoke must have been a little too obvious – okay, sue him – but he at least has the confirmation that she’s tightly wound in terms of having fun._

_“Listen, I know who you are and what you do…”_

_Well, it’s not like his fanbase is exclusively male, as there have been a few women in the past who have sent him letters… and the occasional gift. So, perhaps underneath this hostility was a closeted regular viewer of his work who really just wanted an autographed pinup._

_“…but believe it or not, we’re trying to do a little good around here. We don’t need some asshole who-”_

_“Vaggie!” Charlie interjects, a little bit worried, “He’s been nice to me. He even said he’d come by the hotel to see it… He… Maybe he could even be our first patron.”_

_Well, there went his idea about her being an admirer…_

_And again, the spider demon is sure he only indicated the possibility that he would stop by, so the sudden statement about being a ‘patron’ feels a bit premature. Still, this encounter alone has been amusing thus far, so, with that in mind, he decides it’s time for the old ‘exit stage right’ maneuver before the moment gets ruined._

_He runs a hand through his hair, glancing away with a laugh. “Charlie explained what ya’ both were tryin’ ta’ do. I think it’s interestin’.” His politest way of putting it, admittedly. “Said I might come by, so if I do, then I’ll have ta’ be nice if ya’ are going ta’ let me crash there.” Looking between them, he grins playfully. “But I gotta’ be on my way. Important business, ya’ know?”_

_There comes an exhale from Vaggie as she rolls her eye at him while muttering words in what sounds like another language, but Charlie responds to his goodbye with a giggle, and then a smile of her own that is soft and kind. “It was nice meeting you, Angel Dust.”_

_“Angel, toots. And same ta’ yous’. And your lady ‘friend’.”_

* * *

What a useless fucking memory.

Dusk has overtaken the skies of Hell, leaving Angel Dust in the deep shadows of broken buildings and rubble that become more and more ominous with the passage of time. The surrounding dark, in which little to nothing can be distinguished with plain sight, prompts his paranoia to question if there are unseen presences observing him at that moment…

…simply waiting for the right opportunity to emerge.

Only a moron with no sense of self-preservation would continue to hang around here.

It’s a label that the spider demon supposes he fits, given that he’s presently crippled and bleeding out while bring stuck in North Pentagram for an amount of time he can no longer be sure of.

Halfway through leaving a message, his Hellphone had shut off, and he’s not sure if Charlie had received his call, but with how long he’s been sitting there, he wonders if maybe she had chosen not to come if so or perhaps had just outright ignored it.

If someone said that it was what he _deserves_ , he thinks he would be hard pressed to disagree.

His first encounter with Hell’s Princess fully fades away, and he’s still not entirely sure why he’s indulging in mentally running through it at a time like this.

Perhaps it’s out of a masochistic instinct to revel in the bleakness of the situation by thinking of a memory that he could comparingly label as ‘good’. If so, then it fulfills its purpose of helping the goal of feeling as miserable as possible, and again enforces the idea that he does not make good choices and he is experiencing the consequences of that.

Either way, he regrets not being able to say he’s sorry.

His leg surprisingly doesn’t hurt beyond a dull throb, his now stained hands still pressed over it.

Normally it would be a bit alarming, but there’s a strange weight on him that’s becoming more prominent in his senses and renders his concerns somewhat distant. In truth, it almost feels like he’s tired, like he has an urge to sleep.

It’s almost… comfortable.

And in the meanwhile, it’s so fucking quiet…

Even with the distant sounds of the livelier parts of the city, he’s painfully aware of how audible his own breathing is. Under normal circumstances it would be unnoticeable, but the act currently feels like a loud advertisement to all those who might be listening nearby

He’s seen the Carrion Hounds eat from the piles of corpses left after each annual Extermination, and every so often they’d find the rare body of someone within who had gotten off ‘easy’ in comparison to most and had yet to fully succumb to their wounds.

Ultimately, they never cared to make a distinction between the dead and those who were almost there, even when the chosen ‘meal’ started screaming.

Was that going to be him? Or would he be _lucky_ enough to die first?

He still has his gun, and he knows there’s at least five rounds remaining in the pistol’s magazine. It’d be enough to take down two, perhaps three demons of his caliber should the need arise, but after that, he’d be at the mercy of any surviving assailants having a go at him.

Maybe saving a single bullet would be smart…

An exhausted sigh leaves him, his hearing only then registering the sound of approaching footsteps, and he immediately freezes as he listens.

They’re coming from behind him; not _that_ close but within the distance of being called an immediate threat. He determines that it’s several individuals, judging by how the noise registers, moving steadily closer.

The manner of which, slow and cautionary, speaks of an intent to not make their presence entirely obvious. It’s a means to judge a target, to wait and see the extent of their response to a foreign presence, and at that point, they’d no doubt react appropriately if there was a desire to do harm.

Perhaps like wolves closing in on prey…

…the notion of saving a single bullet reappears in his head

Angel Dust scowls.

Fuck that! Let them try while he was still breathing!

He wouldn’t be the helpless victim in this potentially oncoming death, and he wouldn’t go out in a such a pathetic manner. Maybe it was a mindset born out of a personal code of honor he possessed, or maybe it was his narcissism slapping him in the back of the head and yelling for him to get his ass up.

The porn star wouldn’t be ‘easy’ in that sense.

With a final, preparative intake of air into his lungs, he shifts his attention towards the corner of the car, holding the pistol up as he moves to slide himself toward the edge of the car frame, holding the intent of peeking around the corner before starting to fire…

…only to have a wave of dizziness wash over him.

_Shit… shit… fuckin’ shit._

He slumps on his side, groaning while stopping the descent with his elbow as he tries to push himself back up before getting caught in such a vulnerable state.

Well… so much for going out on his own terms…

Two beams of light pierce through the shadows, illuminating Angel Dust as well as a lot of the surrounding area.

He’s slightly blinded by their abrupt appearance, so much so that he averts his gaze from the steadily oncoming but still unknown source. Dimly, he registers the sound of the individuals from prior who had been approaching then turning to flee, their footsteps fading away in the opposite direction.

It’s all so confusing… what… what was happening? The sudden sequence of events feels almost… _surreal_.

But through the haze breaks a new thought, one that grabs his attention by speaking of the idea that perhaps he has already bled out, and these are just the final moments before his mind takes that final leap off the cliff into whatever was next.

The last time he had died had been different, at least from what he can remember, but perhaps…

It doesn’t really matter, because it looks like he might actually learn if there really is a ‘Double Hell’ regardless of any possible explanations.

The origin of the light stops not far from him, his vision blurring as he feels the arm supporting him shake and slowly give out before the side his face makes contact with surprisingly cool, yet still hard asphalt.

Silhouettes, having details that he cannot distinguish other than their dark outlines, begin to appear in his line of sight, and he watches as they begin to move closer to him.

One of which looks kind of familiar… kind of… _sounds_ familiar also. Were they… were they talking…?

He is pulled under into darkness.

* * *

Charlie can’t recall a time she’s ever been so scared.

She feels so much anxiety at that moment, experiencing a wish for maybe a hundred scathing interviews with Katie Killjoy, or an unannounced visit from her father, or something equally as stressful instead of the current situation.

If she hadn’t left her phone in her jacket and walked away… if maybe she had tried to reach out during the days after the spider demon had angrily stormed out…

There are far too many ‘ifs’ floating around in her mind, but she can’t help it. That’s the sort of person she is, trying to make a claim on bad situation’s responsibility that might only have a slight relation to her, even trying to find a way of saying the fault of it has something to do with her regardless of if she has little or no basis to do so…

…and even _if_ doing so only ended up being detrimental in the end.

It’s a flaw of hers... she’s not afraid to admit that.

_“Charlie, you can’t help him if he doesn’t want to be helped.”_

The advice was good, having been given when she was about to chase after Angel Dust after he had left the Happy Hotel that day. She doesn’t blame the person who gave it to her, but she still wonders if this situation could have been avoid by doing something – _anything_ different.

As she glances down at the spider demon, his head resting in her lap, she struggles to find an answer.

His eyes are closed, his mouth slightly open with the rest of his body being sprawled across the floor of the limo.

With her hands on his shoulders, she keeps her attention mostly on Angel as the car speeds down various streets as they make their way back to the Happy Hotel.

“…Molls,” she hears him speak, delirious but still slightly conscious despite his sustained injuries, “Molls, we got… gotta’ tell dad… Fuckin’… Ar… Archie… He’s been…”

The rest of the words becoming indiscernible as he trails off, his head lulling slightly to the side...

…then he’s suddenly trying to jerk upright, pushing against her grip in reaction to the treatment of his wounds by the hands of another. His eyes momentarily shoot open before they slide once more closed a second later.

Charlie looks over, feeling a surge of dread from the thought that something has just gone terribly wrong.

Upon glancing Husk, however, she sees he’s merely frowning dispassionately at a shard of metal that is being held between two thin, crimson-stained claws. He brings it up to the light to squint at it while apparently not being worried about the prior physical response from the injured sinner.

Swallowing nervously, Charlie asks, “Was… was that the only…?”

“Far as I can tell… yeah. Only got skimmed on his side from what I can see.”

Husk scowls at the fragment, returning to work and continuing to talk in the meanwhile.

“Not the biggest fucking thing I’ve ever seen pulled out of someone’s leg. This bastard better appreciate the effort cause’ it ain’t fucking easy to get parts of a bullet out without doing more damage.”

There are a few moments before the cat demon then turns to look directly at to Charlie and Vaggie, the latter of which sits by the other demoness, her arms crossed over her chest.

His expression is serious as he states: “So the ‘fun’ part is about to happen…”

A flask is taken out, his attention shifting to it before back down at the spider demon, continuing, “Lot of assholes down here might have more arms or legs than when they were alive, but gettin’ an infection in Hell is still a bitch. Area around the breaks needs to get doused… so you two are going to need to hold him while that happens because it’s gonna’ _hurt_.”

Hell’s Princess feels her eyes grow wide; she’s about to protest at the warning and say that perhaps it was unnecessary or that there had to be a _better_ way but pauses when she feels a hand being placed on her shoulder, then looking back towards the owner.

“He’ll be alright, Charlie.”

Vaggie gives her a gentle, reassuring squeeze, the look she holds sharing the same sentimentality that had been put into the gesture. “If he’s endured this long, he can for a little bit longer… just think of it as the price for all the times he’s been a pain the ass.”

Under normal circumstances, Charlie wouldn’t approve of such a comment, but it does bring a bit of normality to the situation that is comforting to her despite the current severity. She looks back down at the individual who, in addition to becoming the hotel’s first patron, has also become a friend during the time that has passed since he had checked in.

She takes a breath, bracing her hold on Angel Dust as the other demoness makes to do the same before they both nod, signaling they were ready.

Husk unscrews the cap on the flask in response, bringing it up to his nose and sniffing.

His face scrunches, but he then mutters, “yeah, this stuff will work...” before pouring some on the fur of his right palm and beginning to wipe and press around edges of the wound on the spider demon’s leg.

The porn star’s breathing violently hitches, and he begins to push up against Charlie’s hold, but the effort isn’t nearly as strong as if he was fully conscious and at optimal health, and with Vaggie’s help, she endures through the initial cleaning and the one done for the injury on his side. Both efforts bring about the same physical reaction along with an accompanying groan.

Once the process is finished, it is then that she finally lets herself relax a little, finding some relief because the worst now appears to be over.

“There,” the cat demon says upon concluding his final efforts. “When he wakes up, tell him to keep changing the bandages. The more often, the better.”

“Thank you, Husk.”

A scoffing noise is given in response to her gratitude, which is followed by a shaking of the head before a swig from the flask is taken.

“Tell Alastor that he owes something extra for this… contract or no fucking contract, this is more than just fucking charity and that prick knows it.”

After a moment, and begrudgingly while doing so, Husk then relents:

“…just do me a favor, and don’t tell pretty boy that I was the one who fixed him up. I already gotta’ deal with him not leaving me alone while I’m tending the bar, so I don’t need some kind of ‘thank you’ flirty shit comin’ from him.

He then stands, taking a seat at the back of the limo’s rear cabin where he proceeds to look out the window while wearing an unhappy expression From the way it appears, it’s as if all that has just occurred had not, and Husk is only thinking about an unrelated inconvenience from earlier in the day.

A silence overtakes the following moments as Charlie simply watches Angel Dust, continually reaffirming the thought process that he’s no longer in any danger, and that he’s safe.

She had feared the worst when they had found him in North Pentagram, briefly holding the belief that they were too late before having gotten close enough to see he had been still breathing and alive, and she had been so thankful to have been utterly wrong in that moment.

Despite his height, the spider demon is lanky to the point where getting him into the car wasn’t as nearly intimidating a task as one might think.

“What happens next, hon?”

Vaggie’s soft words are weighted beyond their simplicity, but Charlie’s response is plain despite holding this knowledge.

“We get him to his room…” She doesn’t look over at the moth demoness, keeping her gaze firmly on the sinner she feels so responsible for in spite of not quite understanding the exact reason behind the intensity of the obligation. “Angel… Angel’s not perfect, but he’s…”

He has never told any of them his real name, never having come close to speaking about the subject matter in _any_ capacity… but it had been that person who had ultimately reached out to ask for help in a time of crisis. The message that he had left her had told her everything she needed, and it had only confirmed her belief that he was right for the hotel, even if maybe he struggled to see that at times.

Regardless of any missteps Angel had taken in the past and might still in the future, she would try to help him as best as she could.

“…he’s still worth trying to save.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **1/30/2021:** Revised
> 
> I started writing this story, now officially called 'Praxis', several months ago.
> 
> At the time, the story beats were vastly different than what exists in the current incarnation. Though always going to involve an Angel Dust and Charlie relationship, the first draft of the story began a bit before the close-call, and wouldn't have gone on much beyond that in terms of the importance of the incident. An antagonistic force was always going to exist, but their involvement has since evolved since the early conceptions I considered.
> 
> Long story short: I had to fill in the gaps of the lore that don't exist, haven't been answered or addressed, or I was/am still currently unaware of.
> 
> Over time, I'm sure this story will become more and more AU in nature.


	3. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel Dust awakens back at the Happy Hotel, and it isn't long before he takes notice of several details. Any further observations are quickly interrupted by the arrival of another person.

His world is devoid of feeling.

There is only an unending blackness, but within it he finds that all his problems are absent, and there is none of the stress that has been weighing him down for so long. It’s a sensory limbo that he tries to remain in as best as he can, taking comfort in the sanctuary it provides…

…however, a growing awareness brings with it pangs of discomfort which soon transform into flares of pain that prove his efforts to be futile.

A groan escapes from Angel Dust.

He raises an ungloved hand slowly up to his face, beginning to push his palm against an eye socket in a vain attempt to alleviate the ache coming from inside head. Pointless as the gesture is, it at least provides a small, soothing distraction from the painful tempo in his skull, allowing him to try and collect himself as best as he can.

He feels weak, his present state faintly reminiscent of a bad hangover after a night of particularly heavy partying, but without the memories of fun, mostly naughty activities to accompany the unpleasant sensations. Just loose fragments of sounds and vague shapes…

…and regrets

Somehow, he is still alive, and somehow, he’s woken up somewhere other than the cold hard street he had passed out on. There’s no longer the sensation of asphalt underneath his body, instead replaced with the soft comfort of what appears to be a bed.

He opens the eye currently not underneath his palm, lazily glancing around at his surroundings and blinking through haze to clear his impaired sight. The room begins to look more and more familiar, and it isn’t long before he comes to realizes why.

It’s _his_ room… the one he had at the Happy Hotel…

This immediately strikes him as _impossible_ , because the last time he was here was right after losing his shit and yelling at his two female landlords.

Perhaps he had expected that they would have thrown out all his stuff in the aftermath, his recklessness that had been born from haste and stupidity during the inciting moment making him not pay much heed to the prospect that he was going to lose a great deal of the possessions that he was particularly fond of.

Yet everything looks the same as far as he can tell. Untouched… as if the incident never happened.

His wardrobe had been reduced to the various bits of clothing he had left at Cherri’s place over the course of their friendship. All of his things, which were sentimental, expensive, or both, had been left abandoned and at the mercy of those he had been crass to…

…which figures, as it felt like the expected price to be paid for being such an idiot.

Still, it all looked to be here… even the wig of blonde model hair that he used on occasion, especially in relation to when Valentino had received certain request _s_ from clients that required a little bit of dress up that may or may not have required some roleplay.

Part of him – the self-loathing _, bitter_ part – suddenly wants to laugh at the realization that they had saved his stuff… and then saved _him_.

There’s no other way he could have gotten here unless Charlie had gotten his message and then went and found him.

Despite his words, despite his actions…

The spider demon directs his mismatched eyes towards the ceiling, laying still with his arms now extended outward while trying to determine how he felt in that moment.

_Why tha’ fuck did they-_

Thinking about his rescue in the context of ‘they’ was almost certainly incorrect, because Alastor and Vaggie would have been against the action. Therefore, it was most likely that he probably owed his life to the decision of but one person.

_Why would she bother ta’…?_

He grunts, stomping on a question that uses the motivation of others to express self-hatred.

It’s an old, but well-known trick that his mind liked to use against him on prior occasions. Being highly effective, and ultimately hard to stop, it required an effort incredibly early on in order to derail a thought process that surely going to lead to a further negativity.

There had been times where he had been successful in doing so…

…but ‘successful’ is a word that vaguely reflects a measurement he can’t really express.

Angel Dust sighs, pushing himself up into a sitting position while ignoring his headache that brings a little bit dizziness with it. He glances at his reflection in the mirrors that are present not too far from the bed.

He looks unruly; his hair is a mess, and his eyes are telling him that he needs to lay back down and keep resting for who knows how long.

It’s not _quite_ the high standard he usually keeps himself to, but it’s a far cry from the oncoming death that had been waiting for him to bleed out and slip into what might have been an infinite void. The urge to stumble his way to the bathroom is strong despite the previously observed signs that he needs to keep sleeping, and he moves to swing his long legs out from under the covers and over the edge of the bed.

His attempt is immediately dissuaded the moment he tries to put any significant amount of weight on the injured limb.

_SON-OFFA’-BITCH!_

It’s not a yelp or even a whimper that breaks past his mouth, but the bastard offspring of the two.

Once the pain from his impulsive failure recedes to a tolerable point, he opens eyes that had been slammed shut moments ago and looks down towards the wound. With a feeling of surprise, he sees that bandages of high-quality application cover it, a mirror on the side of his torso makes him curious as to who treated him…

…and probably stripped him also.

He still has on the shorts from the outfit he had been wearing, but his jacket is gone, and his boots have been removed and placed on the floor. A sense of panic at the realization of the latter is only alleviated when he sees that the dark socks that pass above his knees are still present.

Yes, he’ll acknowledge that it’s ridiculous time to be self-conscious over _that_ issue… but he doesn’t care.

As if to emphasize this, he hastily moves his legs back under the covers when he hears the door to the room begin to open. Still sitting up, he directs his attention towards an awfully familiar blonde female demon that walks in holding a glass of water.

Charlie freezes when she sees him.

He watches her silently as she stares.

“…Angel Dust.”

At hearing her voice, his throat dries, and he swallows as he struggles to think of something to say…

_Say ya’ sorry. Say ‘thank you Charlie fa’ savin’ my dumbass even though I didn’t deserve it!’._

“Heya’, toots.”

_Smooth…_

It sure as Hell isn’t eloquent, and it’s most definitely the bare the minimum of what he owes her right there and then, but he’s unsure of how to properly begin. Her dark eyes aren’t helping either; they’re impassive and focused and he’s not used to the level of seriousness within their depths.

He can’t help but yearn for her bubbly displays of emotion.

She walks closer, silently setting the water in hand down on the small nightstand next to his bed before she then turns fully towards him so that she’s now looking down into his face while he’s gazing up at her.

“Angel, what were you _doing_ in North Pentagram?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

The straight forwardness of the question is so jarring, any sarcasm or humor he might try to think of dies before it can even reach consideration for use. Further, the fact that she is acting so unlike the person he’s come to know since meeting her and then checking into the Happy Hotel is making him somewhat wary.

Without much confidence in how to answer her query, and not sure if he can give her a plain explanation that is short and simplistic, he settles for a basic response. It does display his current mindset about what happened and feels appropriate enough.

“Bein’ stupid…”

For a moment, she doesn’t say anything, only continuing to quietly observe his face… but then a small, soft smile comes to her lips, and her eyes finally fill with the warmth and compassion that he remembers and associates with her.

The relief he sees within her expression is what he also begins to feel as the tension immediately begins to ease out of his body, while also bringing about a sudden realization regarding himself.

His brain had taken notice of Charlie’s absence these past few days.

“I think that’s what Vaggie said too.”

* * *

“…I’m sure Vaggie didn’t put it so _nicely_.”

Though he would be correct in his claim, Charlie chooses not to confirm the spider demon’s words, only silently recalling how the moth demoness in question had used a specific style of ‘description’ in response to learning of Angel’s situation.

English and Spanish had mixed, expressing things that she could not repeat in polite company.

Instead, she gives the male sinner a look over from her proximity to his bed.

He appears much better in comparison to how they found him, so to see him awake and speaking gives her some solace as to his recovery, both present and future. Although it might have been her emotions being overly sentimental at that moment, she does feel a sense of relief from his now being back at the hotel.

There had been an aspect within her life of late that she would perhaps deem to be ‘vacantness’, with her awareness towards his missing presence having begun to be noticed at various times during the days that had followed his departure.

Whether it had been the empty spot on the couch in the lobby that he usually took for himself to laze around while messing with his Hellphone, or a particular hour where she would have suspected he was getting into a verbal conflict with Vaggie or Husk out of a desire to bring out reactions.

As much as she disapproves of the latter activity, wishing he would not engage in it, it still speaks of how much Angel Dust has become a part of her home and how she expected to see him as she went about her usual business at the hotel…

He raises a hand to rub one of his temples, his face scrunching slightly and reminds her that she has something to give him then.

“We figured you wouldn’t be feeling your best once you woke up, so I brought you some medicine to help a bit.”

From her person, she produces a small white tablet that is placed it into the glass of water that had been set nearby. Once the wait for the fizzling it produces from its dissolvement dies down, she hands it over to him.

He immediately drinks the contents without any objection or comment, her judgement of his need of it being shown correct.

“Thanks, Princess.”

“Of course,” she responds, taking the now empty container from him and placing it once more in its prior location next to the bed. It is then that she sees his glance towards the bathroom which is followed by him looking at his injured limb.

No doubt considering the difficulties it poses to walking, prompting her to offer, “Angel, do you need…?”

“Yeah… Leg’s givin’ me trouble, so gettin’ up s’gonna be… yeah.”

She helps him out of the bed, supporting him best she can until he’s standing upright on his own for the most part, albeit with the majority of his weight placed on his uninjured limb. When he then goes to move forward, the motion being to limp, she’s already placing herself in position to assist him further but receives a shake of his as he lightly waves it off.

For her attempt she is given an expression of mischief and amusement, and he comments:

“Thanks, babe, but I ain’t tryin’ to cross tha’ street. I think I can manage a few steps on my own… or were ya’ just lookin’ fa’ another excuse ta’ feel me up some more? Pretty sure I had more clothes on than this…”

Heat comes to her face as she turns scarlet, and by the way his grin widens so that his golden tooth comes into view, she knows that was indeed the driving intention behind the previous remark.

She glances away, squeaking but just a little bit angry enough to stammer out, “W-well, I guess you must be f-feeling alright if you’re t-talking like that!”

He starts to laugh, apparently at perceived indignation, but the reaction dies a seconds later when she continues to keep her attention off him, her lips quirked downward. There comes a very audible sigh from spider demon, and, after a passing moment, he utters, “Charlie?”

At the usage of her name and not one of his ways he goes about addressing her, she looks back at him.

Rings of pink, dark in tone and serious in nature, regard her and make it seem like they don’t even belong to the person whose words made her flush mere seconds ago.

“I’m sorry,” Angel Dust states, his tone flat and humorless. “Fa’… for everything.”

_Wait… did he…?_

“Shoulda’ neva’ have said all that stuff,” he continues, holding her gaze for a moment longer before he directs his away, placing it on the wall to his right. “It was unfair of me ta’ go off on you and Vaggie. Felt like shit afta’ I said what I said… so… again, I’m sorry…”

She blinks, processing the statement.

Angel Dust had apologized… and it had been _sincere_.

That’s not to say she believes his personal character to be so terrible that _any_ apology he ever gave was _meaningless_ – no, she prefers to believe the best about him, but she cannot recall at time where he had put so much effort into admitting being at fault for something he did.

There was no doubt within her that the gesture had been one of difficulty for him, and the amount of consideration or others it had involved…

Her eyes begin to feel a little bit watery, but Hell’s Princess would swear that it’s because there was something in them and not because she was feeling so moved by the moment.

After all, she wants to try and come across as being at least _somewhat_ able to keep her emotional state in check while not having others worry about hiding themselves from her in fear that she was just too sensitive to understand them.

So, if not for her own sake, then to avoid placing an unnecessary burden upon him.

She slowly reaches up, gently touching his cheek to turn head so that he’s once more looking directly at her. Briefly, she silently looks into his stare which is wide and a little surprised, clearing her throat before giving him a verbal response.

“Thank you for apologizing… It… it means a lot to me that you said that.”

As he watches her, not speaking, she is able to read within his eyes that he is processing her words… but then he smiles, reassured while then being apparently pleased by the fact that he did the right thing. His tone is lighthearted as he mutters, “Knew ya’ were just tryin’ ta’ touch me some more…”

When she takes her hand away, he holds her gaze for a little longer before then limping over to the entrance of his suite’s bathroom where a something must suddenly occur to him because he halts and lingers on the edges between the two rooms.

That telling expression of his from earlier reappears.

“…oh, right. Just cuz’ the lights go _out_ doesn’t mean ya’ can take advantage of lil’ ol’ me and peek at tha’ goods! Ain’t a proper thing ta' do, babe, so ya’ gotta’ pay fa’ that sort of thing next time, capeesh?”

_Peek at the goods…?_

The realization of what he’s implying hits her.

“A-angel! T-that’s… I didn’t-”

But he’s already closed the door behind him, leaving Charlie standing alone to once again feel her cheeks color up to match the round markings that were already present on them and of that shade of red.

She’s truly thankful that Vaggie isn’t around, as her friend would surely have allowed for irritation to flare up unchecked and been vocally loud in any sort of reprimand that she chose to give the spider demon. Of course, that would have in turn made Angel Dust only go to see how far he could push her fury.

Charlie’s own thoughts are a bit more courteous, though hold a message that is similar.

_Why does he have to be so frustrating?_

Something tells her that now isn’t the time or place to deeply contemplate the inner workings and reasoning of the ‘porn star turned first patron’.

To do so felt like it would only end up with her finding answers that made her want pull her hair out. There’d be even _more_ mysterious left for her to ponder afterward, and that’s just not the ‘fun’ time she’s currently looking for…

Despite a desire to stick around and speak to him some more, perhaps to scold or just to make up for lost time because they had actually said very little in what is a relatively short reunion, she decides it’s best to go and find Vaggie. Giving the spider demon some space, especially after his taxing apology, seems like it would be wise for now.

They could always talk later when emotions weren’t at risk of running high and he was feeling better.

She calls through the door:

“I’ll be back in a little bit with some food! Keep getting some rest, okay Angel?”

Upon hearing him give her an audible grunt in return, she then departs, leaving his suite and heading down one of what is many long hallways that exist within the Happy Hotel

To anyone who might have been watching her, there is a new spring in her step as she smiles and makes her way towards the staircase that would lead to the lower floors.

_Angel is here at the hotel – he’s back!_

She can’t help the sudden good mood that stems from this thought despite that in the background of her mind, yes, there’s also a desire that his... what she might call less polite 'tendencies' were toned down, or at the very least less frequent.

His remarks and teasing being the best immediate examples she could think of… but were they not simply endearing aspects of who he is? To have those traits suddenly _vanish_ feels like he wouldn't be the same person, though there were surely those who would disagree with her sentiments and call that a good thing.

Maybe there was a compromise somewhere… if not for Vaggie’s sake, then for any of the future residents he might have interacted with.

Any further effort she might have put into contemplating the subject immediately dissipates upon emerging into the lobby and finding an active standoff occurring.

Of the two people involved in the situation, Vaggie is the one she immediately knows.

Her friend stands near the inner entrance of the hotel, blocking the path of an unfamiliar cyclops demoness whose hair is a mixture of pink and variants of blonde. The harpoon she usually wields is pointed directly at this individual, either to dare her to come forward or to convince her to turn around and flee out the building's front doors.

But their visitor appears to be just as determined to move forward even with the threat of violence from Vaggie.

In her hand is what looks like an explosive, probably a grenade judging by how it is shaped and the way it is currently being held for potential use. A finger is hooked into its pin, just waiting for an incentive to respond by yanking it free…

…and not apparently caring about how close in proximity everyone was in relation to the potential blast radius.

As _volatile_ as the situation is, the potential for disaster quite imminent, Charlie’s attention is drawn away from the two women and towards the pink pig currently occupying the space under the arm of the individual who is starting to look a little bit familiar…

Fat Nuggets oinks at her and wriggles.

_Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(Kapeesh? Capisce? Capeesch?)_
> 
> **2/3/2021:** Revised! Hope to add more chapters to Praxis soon!


	4. Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Cherri and Vaggie face off, another individual overhears the conflict taking place. With amusement, he listens in...

_Vexing._

Yes, that’s the word he would use to describe such an audacious interruption to his reading.

Normally he would consider it nothing less than a poignant insult, and as such a confrontation from him would logically be the next step. The etiquette by which he conducts himself in these types of matters would dictate nothing less, and he comes close – _very_ _close_ – to shutting his book…

…yet at the prospect of impending violence erupting between the two parties involved in the disturbance, Alastor decides to be generous and forgive.

Meaning he would _only_ chide the misbehavior displayed by the survivor of the coming bloodbath.

Vagatha’s voice reaches his ears, and he quietly lets out a noise of amusement at her harsh words towards the individual who had burst through the hotel’s front doors but a few moments ago. From what he can hear, from his position in the adjacent room, there was a demand to see that degenerate that Charlotte had gone to rescue the night before.

An utter waste of time and dignity by his own opinion, but if the Princess chose to squander her efforts and aspirations in such a fashion, then he would keep silent and merely observe. Waiting for what was… _inevitable_ just required patience, after all.

Sinners like the spider were grotesquely predictable in their behaviors… and demises that resulted thereof.

Of the two women in the exchange, the moth demon’s words are most audible, and he listens to her rebuking of the demand from their visitor to navigate the hotel unfettered. She goes on to more or less inform them that they weren’t in the business of accommodating street vagrants, simply because they claimed to know ‘Angel Dust’ by the farcical stage name he had chosen for himself.

A part of him respects such a stalwart commitment to the establishment’s guard of the unwanted… but naturally this was perceived as a _slight_ by the other person involved in the confrontation.

He hears their unknown guest yell for Vagatha to once again give the location of the spider sinner, preferably in the form of a room number, and then remove herself from the path she intends to take forward.

Although, the words involved in relaying the order aren’t of a high level of refinement, and the profanity that is intermixed only lends it to be crass in nature… but then comes the delectable sounds of weapons being drawn or manifested, a signifier of the anticipated crescendo of pure violence that is about to take place.

_Splendid!_

So, it is with an amused smile that the Radio Demon does finally close the book in his possession and leans back in his chair. He folds his hands together, waiting for the first screams.

However, and regrettably so, the soft tenors of Hell’s Princess reach the Radio Demon’s awareness and prevent the occurrence of any loss of life. In what is but a few moments, she disarms the two demonesses of their intention to tear each other to pieces.

Charlotte even apparently recognizes the visitor.

_Cherri Bomb._

He personally knows of this person, or rather has a vague knowledge of her through having seen her in passing on a picture show news broadcast. Coincidentally, if he is recalling prior events correctly, it was the same one where he had first become aware of the Princess’s endeavor with the Happy Hotel…

… because otherwise, the female cyclops would be insignificant to him in any regard.

By her brash activities, she’s nothing more than a minor player in Hell’s political scene, hardly worth taking the time to acknowledge by someone like himself.

She, like so many sinners and Hellborn demons that existed out there, often failed to realize that they were out of their league, and instead chose to rabble-rouse with little self-awareness until their eventual enlightenment through harsh instruction.

Which often was fatal.

The sound of Cherri leaving for Angel’s quarters, followed by Charlotte and Vagatha speaking to one another at a soft volume, tells him that the incident is now over… much to his eternal disappointment.

He reopens his book to the page he was focused on previously, reflecting on how his indulgence in the impropriety of eavesdropping had proven to be pointless and a waste of his time.

Ah, how mother would have scolded him for such behavior in life! What was it she would say? “Such a folly was unbecoming of a gentleman” or something of the like?

Her voice, enunciating the three parts of his full name as she had usually done when he was in trouble, echoes in his mind from a distant past.

His shadow on the wall behind him shifts, silently snarling in rage though he pays its motions no heed nor acknowledges the light surge of static that momentarily manifests in the air around him. Instead, he only retains a soft smile on his expression that stands in stark contrast to the undercurrent of hidden feelings that are of a certain nature.

The chapter he is currently reading comes to an end, and he turns to the next.

**IV: Gas Burns of the Great War**

At least this would be a welcomed distraction to uplift his spirits… not that it was needed.

Time passes as he goes through highly descriptive text on the pages before him and the catalogue of accompanying vivid images which come under his examination. During which, there comes a point where Niffty’s soft humming reaches his ears as she goes about what he presumes to be cleaning the room. Vacuuming, judging by the noise, and he lifts his feet without her prompting when he senses her close enough.

Best not to impede her chores.

The sound of her presence fades a little later, and he is once again alone. At least until another person enters the room and stands near to him, seeking his attention.

He is already aware of who it is, but he plays oblivious for the sake of personal amusement and keeps his eyes on his literature. Not even when the aforementioned individual _purposely_ , and _loudly_ , clears their throat does he bother to change his focus, but upon hearing their growl, Alastor finally does look up.

“Husker, my dear fellow! Why the frown? You know others will take you for being invariably dour should you not crack a smile every now and then!”

The static of his voice compliments the words, but the cat demon chooses to ignore the suggestion while only muttering something profane under his breath.

“I ain’t playing this game with you...”

_Pity._

“Very well! What’s on your mind, my feline friend?”

A sigh.

“You weren’t in last night when we came back.”

“Business, dear Husker, business! I can’t always linger to observe the theatrics of Charlotte’s charges, I’m afraid.” He laughs. “There was a particular Warlord who wanted to offer his fealty to me, but of course, I had to let him down by denying his proposition of such an arrangement. No need of it!”

With another laugh and a tilt of his head, he shows sharp teeth. “Apparently some are still ignorant to my _thoughts_ on the matter...”

In truth, he does not much care for this aspect of the status of Overlord; the tendency to allow their affairs concerning resources and power to pass down to those immediately beneath them in the hierarchy.

Was it not simply a form of mitigation to allow the Warlords to handle the issues of those calling themselves their superiors? Hell might have been full of sinners, no one would argue against this fact, but to deliberately partake in what could be deemed as ‘sloth’ is still something that should be universally looked down upon regardless of the present location.

It was no accident that the tier immediately beneath the highest held a designation that strongly implied its purpose. These were the demons who had accrued enough of a standing to the point that they had what could be deemed an army under their authority, after all, and therefore it is with little surprise that they were the first to throw themselves and their men at each other.

Even to a point where the death counts were almost senseless.

Not _unamusingly_ so, the Radio Demon inwardly admits, but enough to where it helped to reinforce the persistent notion that Hell’s stability was almost always fluctuating and was mostly visible due to the efforts of those just beneath the Overlords filling their role in the political game that one found in the sinner’s afterlife.

Loyalty oaths were often taken as deals were constantly struck within Hell’s top echelon. The brokering of which being a tradeoff of protection and access to various weapon technology for the usage of manpower that could be wielded against an opposing Overlord.

Now, one could operate without having sworn any sort of fealty to the highest rank of demon, as some did decide to do so, but it was much safer and more advantageous to have their backing in exchange for being at their beck and call.

Choosing to purposefully remain independent could be interpreted as a sign of holding greater aspirations while at the same time also being seen as an open threat to those who were currently established.

‘Established’ being a word of not exact or equal measurement among who it applied to…

Regardless, when conflict arose, such as territorial disputes or personal spats between the Overlords – even because of the most _trivial_ of matters driving them – the Warlords and their numbers would be the ones to bleed.

A solution by proxy for those being represented that kept the inconveniences and potential degrees of damage to a minimal…

It’s far too much bureaucracy for Alastor’s liking.

For those who were supposedly the most powerful in Hell, he feels it to be quite disingenuous to rely on a surrogate in such a fashion. As such, his preference is that which grants him a more personal involvement in political affairs, therefore allowing him to see to their resolvent by having a direct influence on an issue.

So, while yes, he does have several people who work under his employ, many of which he holds some form of active deal with, he has long stopped participating in the Warlord aspect of Hell’s structure that was engaged in by those who were allegedly his… _equivalency._

It strikes him as a joke in poor taste.

Like he had done during his initial days in the afterlife, he would continue to be the significant factor when it came to the business of making others know and fear him by his title of ‘Radio Demon’.

“Whatever…” Husk responds, “After we saved the spider’s ass, I worked on the hole that got put into him. Must have been an indirect hit because I only found one piece of a bullet, which… I didn’t think much of until I gave it a closer look.”

He produces said item, holding it out for Alastor to take.

“That strikes me as a rather unsanitary souvenir, my boy. I’ll decline a closer examination.”

“It’s _Exterminator_ metal.”

The fact that the fragment had been buried within the flesh of Angel Dust is quickly dismissed and forgotten as the deer demon takes the presented object and holds it closer to crimson eyes that are slightly wider than before.

_Curious…_

In the simplest of terms, the weapons of Heaven’s annually visiting force, which held a tendency to be left behind in corpses, could not be altered.

Their composition, in relation to a possessed trait within their quality, prevented them from being broken down or reforged in any fashion… and yet here he currently holds proof to the contrary, someone having found a method to do just that.

Being one of the – if not simply the _most_ – dangerous objects present in Hell, there’s an element of humor in seeing what was coveted by many, and usually quite expensive to obtain, having been converted into a form that was so crude yet convenient for use.

It held an element of beautiful ugliness, like purposely smearing human blood on a Luks.

“How quaint!”

Husk regards him with a scowl. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? Fuckin’ _quaint_?”

“Oh? Did you wish for a more thespian reaction?”

He receives a growl.

“Listen, you RED bastard… I figured you’d be a little bit more interested in this than acting as if you just saw a fancy painting or some shit!”

_Remarkably astute, Husker._

Even when angry, the cat demon had always been quite the entertaining delight, and, for a moment, Alastor considers the notion that Vagatha and he could be good friends over their shared dispositions. Both seemingly holding a penchant for the acceleration of hostility within their personalities.

Though when he observes his subordinate, still seemingly boiling at his initial reaction to the obtained information, he decides playing the role of peacemaker is the wisest course of action right then.

Deliberately instigating such a response was one thing but allowing Husk’s umbrage to fester would make him more difficult to handle, especially when being given orders that required a seriousness in how they were followed.

There was one sure way that always brought about pacification.

“Husker, you are a such a spectacle to behold when you express ire,” he says, amusement playing in his filtered tone. “But worry not, for I’ll look into this matter. You have my thanks for bringing it to my attention.”

With a motion of his hand, he brings forth a dark bottle holding equally dark liquid, which the cat demon eyes before looking back at him.

“Not ‘cheap’, I quite assure you…”

His subordinate grumbles but takes the gift and begins to walk away.

Vulgarisms, the number of which is few but dinstinct, float back in Alastor’s direction and only go to amuse him further. He then takes a handkerchief, manifested in the same way as the bottle, and wipes off the fragment of metal before using the cloth to wrap it for the purpose of storage and the placing inside of his coat pocket.

The cloth would need to be burned to absolute nothingness after having been so fouled.

His book is once again raised, and he goes to resume reading, but behind what could be called a benign expression of his, there is a plethora of unseen thoughts. From an outside glance, it was near impossible to discern their presence, but they centered around the objects held up to be a bane to sinner and Hellborn alike.

Who had put in the time and resources to bring about this new means of destruction?

Certainly not the average sinner, if he had to guess, who spent much of their existence scrambling over each other for the sake of simply surviving… but this in turn would imply that an individual with standing must have been behind it.

There are a few potential candidates that readily come to mind, meaning he would eventually need to respond and take advantage of what had been discovered. Mostly for the sake of not being handicapped in any future engagements that might include the usage of weaponry born from the reworking of Exterminator metal.

It appears that the potential for future entertainment has just increased tenfold.

Perhaps there would be a need to speak to the Happy Hotel’s tenant who had been the catalyst behind this new development. Preferably without others around to hinder or… _complicate_ the possible intensity of the inquiry…

He turns yet another page.

**V: Medical and Torture Scars**

Alastor chuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **2/4/2021** : Revised


	5. Popping In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cherri arrives at Angel Dust's room, and emotions immediately flare. In the aftermath, questions are asked and answers are shared.

“Angie, you BITCH!”

Cherri Bomb is standing in his doorway.

She looks pissed off; her single eye is fixated on him in such a way that Angel Dust can almost hear all the negativity that is waiting to be let out into the open. He holds a vague sense of what exactly she might want to say – or rather _yell_ – but at the moment it’s hard to care.

With all the heavy-duty painkillers in his system, it’s not really that much of a surprise…

He had found them in the pill bottle _conveniently_ taped to the underside of the long vanity bench he currently sits on, one of his legs casually crossed over the other. Any further bits of contraband that might have been in his possession, in terms of what had survived the initial irritating purge upon first checking into the Happy Hotel, only includes the occasional cigarette that he likes to have.

In spite of the guaranteed disapproval that would no doubt be received from his landlords for the self-medication effort being indulged in, he isn’t concealing or partaking in the act for the sake of chasing a high.

That side effect is merely a bonus to the numbing of the pain in his leg.

Demon physiology, in all its differing forms found that side of the afterlife… was always a _bitch_ when it came to the ‘bad’ parts… or so Angel would phrase his response if anyone asked his opinion about the topic.

The associated learning curve was better explained than experienced, but this is known to be mostly a rarity among sinners, as firsthand was generally the way it tended to happen. Torn skin and broken bones would mend faster, a small mercy given everything else, but bruises and aches lingered on past what was considered the ‘human’ normal.

As far as the spider demon is aware – with the exception within his knowledge that exists being Imps and _fire_ – only those at the top of Hell’s food chain hold any sort of resistance to injury. The whole, ‘being a bitch to put down’ characteristic just came with the territory, he guesses, though _how_ the Warlords and Overlords personally experienced pain, and how much they could endure, he’s not entirely sure about.

Rumors varied from saying that they barely felt anything, seeing most injuries as minor annoyances, to the claim that they could survive grievous bodily harm that would _definitely_ kill anyone else…

_Lucky fuckers._

But the subject of wounds remains yet another ‘no training wheels’ situation for those who had just been dropped into Pentagram City, as if by the enforcing of an unspoken rule or the will of an unseen force. The namesake of Heaven’s opposite brought that expectation, perhaps, and maybe it’d be just a _little_ bit of a disappointment if there wasn’t any kind of ‘divine’ suffering to be had.

All the scars Angel Dust had seen on numerous naked bodies over the years hinted that it was almost unavoidable…

There comes an enthusiastic oink from under Cherri’s arm, yanking him out of this line of thinking.

Fat Nuggets squirms, and finally frees himself from the hold of the female cyclops before landing on the floor and then trotting over to where the spider demon sits. He oinks once again, looking up at his owner.

“Nuggs’!”

Angel picks up the pig, a surge of happiness flooding through his body, and brings the animal’s snout up to his face to affectionally brush against. Even as he begins to speak to his pet, he is acutely aware of Cherri as she keeps addressing him in the meanwhile.

“You couldn’t let me know you were ALIVE?!”

“Daddy’s sorry fa’ bein’ away, Nuggs’, but he couldn’t help it, snookums…”

“I left you like _five_ FUCKING voice messages!”

“He’s okay now that he’s back here…”

“ANGEL! Are you-”

“I HEARD YA’, YA’ DUMB BIMBO…!”

It becomes clear that he hadn’t taken enough of painkillers to keep himself completely pacified… or maybe Cherri is just the type of person able to make him shrug off the influence of opioids with _overwhelming_ aggravation.

There’s a sudden, sharp, inner gnawing to take more, as if out of fear he’s going to miss or squander their overall effect because of her. It’s a bad thought to be having, both because of where the blame is placed and the paranoia…

…but it’s not unfamiliar to a former hardcore junkie.

_Hardcore junkie in denial… Shoulda’ just fought through tha’ pain._

He brings Fat Nuggets down to rest in his lap, rubbing him behind an ear while regarding the female sinner with a slight scowl.

Now feeling distinctly less happy than he was just a few moments ago, he takes a moment to gather his words before speaking.

There are a few things that need to be said, but he’s thinking of a way to go about it without instigating a full-blown fight… not that he’s worried about them coming to blows or anything like that. The worse their shouting at one another had ever escalated into in the past had been driving them to both lose their voices for a couple of days…

…though they had still exchanged nasty looks and mouthed certain _colorful_ words when that had happened.

“Whaddya’ gettin’ pissy at me for, Cher’? I’m tha’ one who walked away with a bullet in their leg… Ya’ look _pretty_ alright yaself’ from where I’m sittin’.”

And between them, and also against a large portion of the sinner population, he believes his legs are undoubtedly some of the sexiest around… and if he couldn’t deem the injury that they had sustained a tragedy, then what really was?

“You couldn’t ANSWER your DAMN Hellphone, dumbass?!”

His attention momentarily flicks over to the object of mention, which rests on the nightstand next to his bed. It looks a little a rough, the dark pink tones scratched and dirty, but aside from a dead battery, he has hope that it is still usable regardless of the abuse.

Later on, he’d have to find the spare charger that was buried in a drawer somewhere the room… though speaking of which:

“Hey, I forgot ta’ charge it before we left! But why couldn’t ya’ ansa’ yours…?! I CALLED YA’, CHERRI!”

She looks away. “Okay, okay, that one’s on me – _fuck_! I screwed up, I’m s _orry_ … but I left it at the apartment cause’ I seriously thought we’d _on_ ly be gone for like… an HOUR! Didn’t know it was going to turn into an absolute clusterfuck of a fucking garbage fire!”

Cherri Bomb places her gaze on him again, continuing, “But you just fucking ran _off_ , Angel! I drove around North Pentagram as long as I could LOOKIN’ for your skinny ass!”

She had? How far had he run?

The ambush is made up of broken instances of time, mostly from his attempt to actively get away from the hostile gunfire. He tries to make a quick, but clumsy mental estimate of the distance he traversed, but with all the adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins and North Pentagram being as large as it was…

“…it’s still a bit offa’ fuckin’ hazy mess fa’ me,” he admits, running a hand through his now less unruly hair. “But honestly, Cher’, whose ocean did ya’ jizz in ta’ get that kinda’ fire power gunnin’ fa’ ya’? Normally ya’ don’t fuck around with tha’ heavy hitter types…”

The classification had been made blatantly obvious, as he recognizes that the tools of the trade that had been utilized by the kick-murder squad of note had elevated their status above the usual individual that would be involved in carrying out hits. Most employed in that line of work were not as well equipped and as well organized as those who had been trying to put the demoness and him into the ground, with the uniform trait of their appearance only going further to enforce this fact.

Too many signs of notoriety – of _uniqueness_ – that all came together and left a lasting impression that couldn’t be ignored. Even if a few of the finer points of the incident are a struggle to recall, Angel has no trouble piecing together an awareness around the more distinct elements…

…especially since those ‘elements’ had been guns that were actually _decent_ , and not _dogshit_ in their make and assembly.

To have one that was factory grade quality was considered something of a luxury… therefore, seeing _multiple_ had sent up an _immediate_ red flag, because unless a crew had the required amount of money to burn, or a sugar daddy Overlord doing some bankrolling, the typical firearm in hand was the product of someone with the ability to fashion one together.

Often looking like a faux, makeshift version of what could be found in the world of the living.

Back-alley gunsmithing, as well as the often-connected trade of _gunrunning_ , was profitable enough that anyone with the appropriate knowledge and means to acquire the necessary materials could survive rather comfortably… provided they didn’t blow themselves up in the creation process or their business didn’t _conflict_ with Pentagram City’s officially controlled, and greatly more _expensive_ marketplace that surrounded firearms.

Undercutting one of the higher-ups, no matter the involved industry, was one of the quicker ways to end up someone’s shit list…

For him though, the first gun he had ever purchased after arriving in Hell, and well prior to obtaining his high-paying job at Porn Studios, had held a strong resemble to a tommy gun, of which he was ninety-nine percent sure that the foregrip on it had been kept in place with crazy _glue._

Not that he had minded the quirks it possessed, recalling that he had felt proud of himself after having managed to pull together enough scratch from odd jobs to afford it, and given what it was and where it had come from, it had worked exceptionally well and gotten him out of a jam on more than one occasion.

Thoughts on what had once made up his arsenal go to remind the porn star of a point in his afterlife – early on and _years_ before meeting Valentino – where he had briefly considered studying under a demon who was involved in the profession of handmade arms and who he had been on good terms with at the time…

…the only problem being that the individual presenting the opportunity had also been _missing_ a hand, the origin of the loss being simply explained to him as a ‘work-related accident’, and then causing his consideration for saying ‘yes’ to the offer to be rethought over.

Sure, he might have _six_ of the absent body part in question, but it didn’t mean he was treating four as spares…

The trip down memory lane is immediately put to an end when it comes to Angel’s attention that his prior statements to Cherri remains unaddressed, and she only stands in place with her arms crossed over her chest.

Before he can say anything else to her, possibly to press the last question in a more serious and less sarcastic filled way, she abruptly walks over and wraps her arms around his neck, being mindful of Fat Nuggets, who grunts up at her.

It takes the spider demon a moment to register what is happening.

She is _hugging_ him…

“I’m glad you’re not dead, numbnuts.”

Any irritation he may have held towards the demoness immediately vanishes.

She didn’t get affectionate very often, especially with the usage of physical gestures, so he knows from the suddenness of the act that he must have genuinely made her worry to the possibility that he had ended up rotting on a street curb somewhere.

From that realization comes a flare of discomfort, and he goes to lightly return the embrace with a single limb, just to reassure her that he’s fine, despite his loud complaining in the previous moments.

Idly, he then starts to wonder if Charlie had been in a similar state of concern during his absence from the Hotel, and at this notion there emerges sudden internal urge to go see her. The mindset involved with it seemingly holding the belief that he was going to alleviate a theoretical distress she could be suffering from right _now_ by doing so…

_Stupid._

…perhaps he’s just overly raw due to the close call and his reunion with the Princess that day, because it’s beginning to look like all this sentimental, positive emotion stuff from her might be rubbing off on him and turning him soft.

And God, what a pain in lovely his ass _that_ would be!

“Yeah, well… if I was, I’m sure ya’d toss me in some shitty wooden box. And ain’t no way in Hell I’m lettin’ that happen, Sugar Tits. Think I’d come back ta’ life and die again from tha’ embarrassment.”

A laugh and she pulls back, now smiling. “Come on, Angie. It wouldn’t be _that_ shitty.”

“Pfff…”

Cherri places herself down next to him on the makeup bench, her hand then moving to also stroke Fat Nuggets, who has no objection to the dual amount of attention. At that moment, she begins to look around the suite for what is the first time since arriving.

“Huh… not bad. Not really the _dive_ you always made it seem.”

“I neva’ said that…”

“And they kept your all your shit too. How nice of them… y’know, given what you _did_.”

She gestures to the deep red and black robe that he had put on after Charlie had left.

It’s a particularly favorite item of clothing of his, with the way it allows his chest fluff to puff out and also because of how it ends at the bottom so that his legs were in view from a desirable point above the knee. Back at the studio he had mostly worn it before working on a shoot, in the private of his dressing room, so it’s nice to currently enjoy it in a casual, non-pornographic atmosphere.

No demanding schedule, no Valentino.

“Hey, I didn’t half-ass my apology ta’ the Princess, capeesh? Just hafta’ say sorry ta’ tha’ moth she keeps around fa’ some reason, and I think I’ll be _aces_ with tha’ both of them.” Angel snaps one set of fingers. “Water under tha’ bridge. Charlie’s really been a doll about tha’ whole thing.”

He must have said something weird because Cherri is looking at him funny. It’s almost like she’s trying to figure out the answer to an unspoken question she holds. Unsure of what brought it on, he inquires, “What?”

“I finally met her today. She seems nice… nicer than what’d you’d expect someone you’d call your ‘highness’ down in Hell would be like.”

“…yeah?”

There’s a small break of silence, but finally she speaks again... and does so with a carefulness that is apparent.

“Angie, I gotta’ ask… is this… is this another Helsa kinda’ deal?”

If at that moment Angel Dust had been drinking water, he would have spit it out all over the large makeup mirror to his front. If he had been carrying a priceless statue that was ancient and fragile, his life dependent on its preservation, it would have shattered on the ground into millions of pieces.

Instead, his eyes widen, and he stares at her.

_WHAT?!_

The urge to yell the single word aloud is so strong that he just barely manages to suppress it. Cherri bringing _her_ up is bewildering. Doing so in connection of implying that he was involved – his most _family_ _friendly_ way of putting it – with the daughter of the actual Devil in the same fashion strikes him dumb and without any semblance of an answer.

He forces his mind to process his friend’s question.

_She really fuckin’ brought up... she ACTUALLY thinks…_

It’s totally and undeniably crazy; Helsa and Charlie are vastly different in their personalities so how in the fuck did she think he was… wait, why was he bothering to make a comparison? He’s not in a relationship with Charlie, he hasn’t even _thought_ about the notion of being in a relationship with Charlie, so who cares anyway?

His voice is strained despite the conscious effort to sound. “Uh, _what_ – what makes ya’ say that?”

It doesn’t work.

Cherri rolls her eye at him as a result.

“Geez, _Angie_ , don’t tell me you’ve been screwin’ the Princess of _Hell_ … but… y’know, if you _are_ going to ’tell’, well I guess some of the details wouldn’t hur-”

A _disbelieving_ hiss.

“I’m _not_! And I have no idea where ya’ gettin’ all this from anyway! She’s my LANDLORD! She’s just tha’ nice, goody two-shoes, touchy-feely type…”

“Yeah, your landlord who is a _nice_ ‘goody-two shoes’ touchy _whatever_ went to North Pentagram at _night_ to get you. She told me how that went down.” She sighs, remarking, “Is there a thing about girls from ‘preppy’ families that does something for ya’? I told you Helsa was a bad idea from the get-go, but that was because she was obviously an ice-cold bitch...”

He wants to groan, maybe run a hand down his face in exasperation, but instead he tries to resolve the issue.

“Cher’, NOTHIN’ is goin’ on there with Charlie. I promise ya’… and come on, it’s ME! Why would I hide somethin’ like that? Feels like I’d share _that_ kinda’ stuff with my favorite gal pal.”

Again, she watches him carefully, and he swallows under her gaze… but ultimately, she appears to believe that he is telling her the truth.

“…well, at least you’ve made a really good friend then, Angie. From the way she got all happy when all I did was say your _name_ , she must really care. Can’t imagine _why_ , maybe she’s fuckin’ nuts, but hey at least that’s someone else who has to deal with your shit!”

Finally, he relaxes, not sure why the issue had been so stressing but not keen on thinking more on it either. Instead, he sarcastically replies, “Oh please, bitch! I’m tha’ one doin’ social charity when it comes ta’ this thing that you and me have. My issues ain’t even _close_ to bein’ in tha’ same bag of crazy…”

“Oh, you _fuckin_ ’ wish!”

They both begin to laugh, Fat Nuggets to look at them in confusion from the combined outburst.

Putting the pig on the floor so that he was free to wander off, Angel Dust returns his attention to his reflection, and resumes an earlier effort to remove any makeup that had been left on his face from the day before. He’s not sure if he’s going to reapply a new layer afterward, as he might try to get some more sleep as it had been suggested, but that’s a question that he’ll face when it eventually comes up.

His bandage would also need changing, and while that hadn’t been said, it’s within his basic knowledge of injuries to guess that whoever did the patch job would recommend it.

“Hey, I thought this place was called the ‘Hazbin’ Hotel or whatever?”, Cherri remarks, glancing at herself in the mirror.

“Wha…? Oh. That was tha’ licorice stick with antlers playin’ a joke.” He wipes away the last remaining smudges of eyeshadow. “Ain’t a bad one, I gotta’ say. Makes me a little jealous he can pull off that kinda’ fun with a snap of his fingers.”

The action is imitated for show.

A full day had passed before anyone had taken notice of the change; Vaggie ultimately being the person to make the discovery, promptly confronting its architect as well as informing Charlie.

Under the pressure from both, though more so felt from the former than the latter, Alastor had returned the sign to its original form. Although, if Cherri was aware of the initial alteration, then others were also…

It had been fortunate that Angel had been nearby to see the fireworks that had erupted in the meanwhile.

_“Honestly, my dear! No need to get up in arms over a simple, harmless jest.”_

_Irritated Spanish, and then, “Do you know how LONG we’re going to be hearing people make FUCKING jokes about the ‘Hazbin’ hotel?! This place has a PUBLIC phone number, Alastor!”_

He had tried to not openly laugh and drive her anger further…

Tried.

“I don’t get what the Radio Demon is gettin’ out this place,” Cherri sighs. “But everyone’s got their fucked-up hobbies, I guess…” Rising up from her seat, she continues, “There’s some shit I need look into, Angie, but I’ll be back later. Try not get your ass thrown out in the meantime, yeah? I don’t think you’re lucky enough to get ‘another’ _another_ chance.”

“Leg’s going ta’ keep me outta’ commission for lil’ while, sweetheart. I’m on my best behavior until I…”

_Wait._

He trails off, his subconscious urgently reminding him once more of an issue that had been left unaddressed.

“Cherri, who were those guys?” he abruptly asks, “Who wants ya’ whacked so badly they’d send those types of assholes ta’ make sure ya’ were dead?”

The demoness frowns, “Angie-”

A brief silence overtakes her, but then she starts over:

“The dude who set up the deal was someone I know… It shouldn’t have gone down like that – it _really_ shouldn’t have fucking gone down like that... he’s always been pretty reliable when it came to buyin’ explosives from me, or hooking me up with someone lookin’ to buy, or whatever. I should have fucking _knew_ shit was wrong when he told me where he wanted to meet…”

She shakes her head. “I went to his place to get some answers and tear him a new asshole as a ‘thank you’ for almost getting us wasted… but he was dead when I got there. They fucking painted his brains all over the wall.”

Beyond the statement, there’s something bothering her, and given how long they have been friends, Angel Dust can detect it underneath the surface of her words. Neither of them are strangers to the more brutal aspects of Hell, the chaotic violence and endless conflict, so it must have been an unmentioned detail.

He wants to ask, wants to _know_ , but remains quiet.

“I don’t know who these motherfuckers are, but I found the guy’s phone under his couch and was able to get into it. From what I could see, they contacted him by text about a week ago, and-”

Hesitation. A sense of wariness in his system…. then an exhale of air from her before she continues.

“…and there was a picture of _you_. It’s why they wanted me to show up, because they _knew_ I was your friend, and maybe they thought you’d tag along with me to the deal… or maybe I’d _ask_ you to, but whatever had been going on their heads…”

She looks him straight in the eye, no trace of humor being present in her demeanor.

“I don’t know why, Angie, but you were the one they really wanted dead…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Edit 2/8/2021:** Revised.
> 
> There's an element of Charlie's character that I've seen a few authors mention, but never use, at least to my knowledge, in this particular manner of the associated mythology. I felt it would be fun to do so.
> 
>  **Note:** Helsa and Seviathan are siblings and character that have yet to be seen outside the pilot (via cameo) or promotional art. The former is Charlie's rival, according to what has been said, and the latter is her ex-boyfriend.


	6. Want

_The room is bathed in pink and red lights._

_She’s on her knees… and so is the person pressed against her from behind. Slender fingers skim down her bare stomach and settle over her hipbones… but at the same time another set of digits move up her ribs and towards her chest._

_Charlie isn’t sure how she got here, or who she is with, but finds that she’s not bothered in the slightest. It all just seems… right._

_With a content sigh, she pushes herself more into the other individual, registering an almost indescribable fluffy sensation on her upper back. It’s so warm and soft, and she’s tempted to rub against it, but instead she lets out a low moan as she feels her breasts being cupped._

_Being held like this…_

_She reaches up and takes hold of their forearm, finding fur beneath her touch, and presses her right hand over her partner’s mirror. With closed eyes, she helps them squeeze, slowly inhaling and then exhaling in the same fashion._

_More…_

_As if answering the unspoken request, one of the hands on her hips travels down her pelvis and dips between her legs. A gasp escapes her, and her head lulls forward as she feels two fingers steadily spread her folds wide, explorative and bold in their actions._

_There is a shaky breath from behind._

_“Ya’ so wet, baby...”_

_It’s a male’s voice… one that she knows._

_She feels an abrupt urge to see the speaker’s face, to settle the persistent sense of familiarity within her. Charlie opens her eyes, blinking slowly through what seems like a haze that consumes the world around them._

_She turns her head, and finds pink irises meeting her stare. As they widen, her own eyes follow suit._

_It’s him. He’s here with her. They’re…_

_“A-angel.”_

_He looks stunned, just as stunned as she feels, but in the next moment an accepting calmness overtakes his expression. Had he not been expecting her? The notion is strange because they must have both decided to be here to begin with…_

_Suddenly there comes a hunger, an intense need within his eyes, and he glances past her to only start chuckling softly at something that had taken his notice._

_There’s a tall mirror in front of where they kneel… how had she not noticed that before?_

_“Ah, Princess… if only they could see ya’ now.”_

_Charlie feels a heat in her face as she looks into the image it presents, seeing his long arms and hands covering various parts of her naked pale skin._

_Possessively, with a want that is almost palpable… she’s firmly in his grasp._

_Angel Dust is watching them both in the mirror, amusement playing in his gaze. Perhaps it’s because of the vulnerability she has on her face, able to be easily seen in their shared reflection. The hands on her breasts begin to slowly knead._

_Her breathing grows harsher, her eyes once more shutting as she reaches up to place a hand behind his neck. They begin to steadily rock against one another._

_Was that all it took from him to make her feel good? How would it feel when he… when his…_

_It’s there, against her back; Erect, stiff, warm… almost burning against her skin. Would he notice if she opened her legs more?_

_One of the fingers on her sex enters inside, the other following a second later._

_She inhales sharply._

_“Oh, ya’ like how that feels, huh, toots?” he teases, his voice low and dangerous. His fingers begin a steady tempo. After a few moments, he says, "Now whaddya’ think will happen if I… do… this.”_

_A thumb rubs against her clitoris._

_“Nmmff…!” The intensity of Charlie’s grip on the spider demon tightens as her hips promptly jerk forward._

_More!_

_But to her disappointment, with a whine leaving her throat, he removes the invasive hand and brings it out in front of her._

_There’s a glisten on his fingers._

_Charlie squeaks, mortified that Angel Dust is holding it so visibly for her to observe. From behind her, she hears him laugh again._

_“You’re cute as fuck, ya’ know that?”_

_She looks directly at him, giving a small frown in response to his comments and the smirk he currently displays. It’s a frustrating expression, just like his constant desire to exhibit his associated behavior… but she quickly forgets any prior disapproval as her eyes become focused on something else._

_His mouth begins to look so appealing, and she raises a hand to place on his cheek._

_Angel Dust’s face softens… it seems he knows what she wants and feels a need for it also. He gently emulates her last action._

_Steadily, slowly, and with anticipation, she begins to draw her lips up and closer to his own so that they can-_

* * *

Charlie falls out of bed.

Her knee bangs against the hard floor and she yelps, her mind still reeling from the fog of the dream she had just been thrown out of.

“Fuck!”

The sense of royal grace and politeness she usually carries herself with vanishes, the obscenity flying out as her priorities shift to nursing her immediate source of pain. Quickly, she tries to figure out where she is.

_Floor… bed… dream… oh…_

Oh no.

She blinks several times, processing the details of the imagined coupling that she had just been partaking in. A steady blush comes to her face as she remembers each moment that had been shared between her and the dream’s other occupant.

Angel Dust… it had been Angel Dust!

His voice, his eyes, his _touch_.

Immediately she tries to make excuses, to lessen the shock of who her mind had latched onto in the context of being intimate with.

The spider demon had been gone from the hotel for a little bit, so her emotions about him leaving and returning had been powerful and stressing, and therefore maybe her subconscious had misread the signals and decided to put him and her in a situation where they had both been… naked.

Yes, that was entirely soundproof.

But regardless of the reasoning, there is a real-world problem she becomes aware of. Between her legs, she feels an ache, her core calling out with need. It’s not helped at all by the fact that she’s already automatically playing over their interactions from the dream itself.

There would be no returning to sleep until she calmed down. Her eyes shoot to the door of her suite’s bathroom…

Biting her lip, she makes a sudden decision as she rises off the floor.

Hell’s Princess rapidly walks towards the adjoined room and enters. Closing the door behind her, she flips on the light, briefly taking in the number of surfaces she had covered in soft fluffy material, and then goes to take a seat on the fuzzy toilet lid cover.

With a shaky breath, she pulls down her pajama bottoms and slips a hand between her legs and past her underwear.

Immediately, the dampness is apparent… as well as the related sensitivity.

In truth, Charlie has never had much a need for masturbation. On the rare occasions where her body had felt very intense urges, she had indulged, but sex itself has never been that high a priority. Fooling around with Seviathan when they had been together was really the extent of her experiences.

The priorities of being royalty, or her pursuing her own personal projects such as the hotel, had always taken most of her attention. But now…

She begins to rub, to touch, and tries to find release through the act of physical stimulation alone.

However, her mind begins to drift back to the place she had been just before she had woken up.

The details are so vivid and clear, as if they _had_ happened, and against what feels like her better judgement, she begins to once more go through her recollection of the lucid fantasy. Her hand soon follows the Angel’s imaginary motions, finding responses of pleasure.

_A… almost…_

Then it’s no longer about the dream, but what might have happened next if they _had_ done something like that. Numerous scenarios move through her mind as she squeezes her eyes shut to hold focus and make them more tangible.

Angel Dust. Moving on top of Angel Dust. Angel Dust _joined_ with her-

Charlie cries out.

It takes a few moments to recover from the rush… but when the world begins to come back to her, there is a sudden pang of guilt. She begins to clean up, ignoring the pervading feeling until she catches a glimpse of herself in the bathroom’s mirror.

_Mirror._

Swallowing, she breathes in slowly.

These thoughts were inappropriate. Angel Dust is her friend, and further he was the hotel’s first patron.

There was no denying the association of a pornstar with the act of sex. She isn’t going to be silly and claim otherwise, but the place that he comes from is controlled by Valentino. The stories of how the moth Overlord conducted his business were widely known.

Brutally. Cruelly. Unforgivingly.

There are probably a lot of things that Angel has never mentioned to anyone.

Judging by how his eyes seemed to be haunted by a deep pain when he thought no one was looking, the suspicion feels reasonable. If she could get him to share, to let It out, then she would, but he has to ultimately be the one to decide to open up.

And that required trust and support, so putting him in a sexual context is _not_ productive to the building of a platonic relationship for the purpose of helping him. Further, she doesn’t want to ruin their friendship, and is almost scared by the prospect of potentially doing so…

…but there’s an attraction there. It had been waved off before, pushed away with excuses or labeled as something different, but now because of the dream she can no longer deny that it exists.

_Sure, Charlie, blame the dream… totally makes sense…_

Regardless… she had seen the people – namely their _gender_ – that he chose to make passes at, so her worries of being regarded by him as ‘just another customer’ and not truly altruistic in her motives are most likely baseless.

He would never be interested in her in the same way she might have been with him.

These feelings would pass… and Charlie is just thankful that the dream’s existence is known by her and her alone.

* * *

Angel Dust groans and presses his head against the shower wall.

He rides the orgasm to its end, his hips bucking as he thrusts into the grip of his hand. A stream of hot water continues fall upon him as the waning pleasure shooting through his nerves elicits a final grunt, the fantasy in his head fading...

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then he grits his teeth and growls.

_Thanks, Cherri. Thanks ah’ FUCKIN’ lot!_

Maybe blaming his friend for the sex dream that had left him waking up painfully erect and irritated by finding out it hadn’t actually happened is stupid… but when has being ‘stupid’ ever stopped him doing something?

And why had it felt so real?

There had been a room – _his?_ – pink and red lights, a mirror, and finally… her.

_Charlie._

It must have been because of Cherri bringing up Helsa. That part of the conversation had been stressful and brought up bad memories that he had worked to bury, so no wonder his mind had been thrown into such a weird place. He can’t think of any other reason why Hell’s Princess would get in his head like that, and from absolutely _fucking_ nowhere.

_Liar._

Alright, maybe once or twice he had _briefly_ entertained the thought about what Charlie was like in the sack… But he also saw cars out in the street and wondered what the ride was like while being behind the wheel. It didn’t mean there was anything to the notion other than it being something that flickered through his head in passing.

_Oh, that’s fuckin’ rich._

Angel Dust reaches out and twists the handle that turns off the shower.

He had been so close to turning on ‘cold’ upon first entering the bathroom and throwing back the curtain. The intent being to simply purge the urges from his body and his mind, but he had hesitated and then gone the opposite direction.

Like chasing a high, he had used what the dream had so strongly presented to him and reached a peak…

And now he was coming down.

The sobering aftermath that follows isn’t pleasant, because he recognizes certain signs from past experiences that lead him to reach a conclusion. It’s one that he almost _resents_ because of the possible problems that could stem from it…

He's grown attached to Charlie.

Cherri hadn’t been the ultimate reason, but her comments about Helsa had helped throw it into focus. It had caused him to stop and think, and then force a more concrete opinion about Hell’s Princess to emerge. The points of reference become plainly obvious to Angel Dust now that he knows how he feels.

There had been the guilt from his actions before he had abruptly left the hotel of out anger.

Then the memory of their first encounter when he had thought he was going to die, thinking he would never see her again.

And finally, the realization that he had missed her while he had been away.

Okay, so he does prefer to be around her…

Which meant the dream, in spite of the explicit material it had contained, was nothing more than a _fluke_. It was his brain trying to make sense of a jumble of emotions and thoughts that he hadn’t taken the time to properly go over, and work through.

It just had been a very… unique way of going about it.

Charlie, the genuine, honest person that he knows her as, wants to be there for him as a friend. Attempting to complicate it any further than that because of an experience that never _actually_ happened was a bad idea…

…but even as he thinks this, Angel Dust can’t help but close his eyes and mentally picture himself next laying her down, pushing her legs open, and rutting into her right then and there on the floor.

What would his name have sounded like coming from her lips…?

This time, he turns the knob for cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I like the occasional 'slow burn'.
> 
> But generally that's _only_ when the 'burn' has reached a certain point of ignition. I suppose that's just a preference.
> 
> Thanks for reading this far! Hope to update again soon enough.
> 
> And thanks everyone for your hits (over 620), kudos (50), and comments! It's appreciated!
> 
>  **Addendum 11/12/20:** A final pass through the chapter. Some of the ending parts sounded too 'neutral' in terms of narration voice, so some minor word changes/rearrangement have been made. Sorry for any confusion!
> 
> **Addendum 11/13/20:** I lied. I notice an accent and tense error in dialogue for Angel Dust. I really need to make a reference document. Ha.


	7. Nowhere to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel reflects on a new problem of his, and then has his thoughts turn to other things before getting a text message. 
> 
> Charlie, in the meanwhile, hears a rumor that is particularly interesting...

The cigarette resting between his fingers is raised up.

His drag on it is intentionally slow, the following exhale of similar vein to the intake…

…but much to his annoyance, Angel Dust finds none of the satisfaction that would usually be obtained from the act. Residuals of negativity persist from before he had lit the associated object of the prior gesture, and the frown on his face still remains.

‘Fluke’ had been the wrong word to describe the dream.

Usage of the term held the notion of identifying something as ‘one-time only’, the chances of it even occurring to begin with being slim to none. Complimenting that was an unspoken, but strongly implied quality that said ‘thing’ was never going to happen again.

With this having been in mind, the driving force behind the event in question had been interpreted by the spider demon simply as:

Charlie is a _friend_ , and her just _being_ his friend is something he had needed to recognize and appreciate.

Given everything that had been gone through beforehand, it had felt like the correct, and more importantly, _appropriate_ takeaway…

He must have fucked up somewhere.

Because why else would there be a private stag film premiering in his head every night when all he wanted to do was sleep uninterrupted? Further, why did they always co-star the very same person he had resolved _not_ to fuck after apparently getting the _intended_ message?

Maybe his brain was trying to screw him over… or maybe it just gave fuck all about his attempts to take meaning from what was more or less X-rated material.

Regardless, the aftermath of each go-around seemingly followed a trend that the spider demon had unknowingly set with the initial sex dream.

He’d stumble out of bed, having just been thrown back into the waking world, and immediately head to his bathroom. Once there, he would either indulge in a hot shower to find release through the attention of one of his hands… or turn on a stream of water that might as well have been directly from the Antarctic so that he could step in, swear loudly, and rid himself of the urge originating from his groin by doing so.

The constant use of the ‘cold shower’ method was almost akin to a form of punishment, the idea being something Angel Dust might have been able to find humor in where it not for the afterlife around him possibly holding some deeper implication.

His history of addiction could have been a coincidence… or not.

Neither ‘solution’ frankly appealed that much in the sense of how he wished to spend his time, especially since the hours being affected would be better used for getting some actual shut-eye instead of touching himself, the alternative being purposely freezing his ass off…

But it sure as Hell beat at waiting around for the problem to go away on its own.

His bandages would have normally been a source of irritation given the frequent exposure to moisture, but, as had been expected, his skin had already knit to the point where their need was negated. Aside from the breaks in his fur, both wounded areas now looked relatively harmless compared to their appearances after having been tended to by the individual responsible.

Their name he had yet to learn, but he had a strong suspicion as to who it was.

So, in terms of what someone saw, at worst they might just casually ask the story behind the abrasions.

Assuming they cared… from his experience with Johns, most people tended to be focused on other things when looking for a fuck.

Though the predictable lingering ache or two was present within his leg, a prescribed course of painkillers, of which he had come highly recommended by none other than himself, mediated any discomfort to the point of irrelevance… save for him taking more care in the movements of the limb.

It was better Angel look after himself like this than go to one of Hell’s doctors, the ‘do no harm’ saying being more of a punchline at the expense of patients than a well-intentioned proverb. A common story among sinners, both personal and second hand, was one where there would be something missing internally after having been stitched back together by a medical ‘professional’.

Not to mention the fact that anesthesia cost extra…

As he idly wonders why the Happy Hotel’s décor revolved so much around eyes, Angel Dust takes another purposefully slow drag from his cigarette.

The pack it had come from had been snuck in during Cherri’s latest visit, her having given it to him with an explanation that she felt like he probably could use some help with relaxing. His recovery, as she had gone on to use for her main reason, more than likely included a lot of long hours of doing nothing and being stuck in one place.

And thank Christ, because she had been _absolutely_ correct…

While there had been no mention of his ongoing effort of trying to readjust to being back at the hotel, as well as around those who resided within, it had nonetheless been the obvious second motivator behind the gift.

Were it not for his newly acquired and yet to be mentioned source of stress, he might have just been moved to the point where he would have called the one-eyed demoness a saint.

Hard as it was to be appreciative, Angel Dust is still thankful.

Because in all honestly, was there really anything he could even do about these frequent, pain-in-ass dreams of his?

After the third occasion, he had taken noticed that they never played out in the exact same way. The actions shared between him and Charlie varied with each, as if they individually represented separate times of _real_ intimacy…

…rather than a series of pornos that had never moved beyond the concept stage in a director’s head.

But if that was the case, then whatever imaginary scripts he and the Princess were working off of were admittedly better than most of the garbage he had been involved in during the entirety of his career.

Plus, if this continued long enough – not that he _wants_ it to – he’d have the option to make a theoretical collection of the ‘greatest hits’ that was based on his own personal standards, instead of on the ego of some hack screenwriter or the tastes of all his fans.

All that would be missing were the numerous billboards around Pentagram City that would display promotional material in the form of graphical still images from one or more of the ‘films’.

Angel pauses in this line of thinking, taking a moment to consider how long it’s been since he was last at Porn Studios…

In doing so, he can’t help but recall a certain piece of information that had been shared with him by Cherri.

_“I don’t know why, Angie, but you were the one they really wanted dead…”_

He hadn’t been sure of how to react at the time of hearing those words, defaulting instead to playing them off like she had been teasing him.

Partially to make the interaction more typical and to step back from the seriousness that it preceded from, and partially to process.

_“Huh. Guess I should pull out the long list I have fa’ dickbags who hold a grudge.” A chuckle, “Gonna’ take a little while ta’ go through the thing though.”_

Cherri may have been more concerned that she had let on right then, and maybe had wanted to address the issue in tone that reflected this, but any indication of such had been skillfully hidden. She had chosen to follow his lead, or so he assumed anyway, and laughed before remarking how Angel was probably correct because of reasons ‘x’, ‘y’, and ‘z’.

It was always nice to be reminded of how good his friend was at breaking his balls.

_“…that said, I’ll keep looking into it, Angie. But you’re gonna’ owe me big time, skank!”_

Beneath his first spoken response had been a familiar line of thinking, the very same he had entertained not too long ago when it looked like a second death was a real possibility.

Was Val responsible?

Sure, Angel Dust had somewhat jokingly thrown out an alternative, bring up the suggestion that it had been that snake douchebag they had fought after the recent Extermination.

To which Cherri had said that she had thought of this already, and from what she had heard after looking into it as a possible lead, mister title ‘whatever’ was still nursing the black-eye that had been given after his failed ‘attack’ on the hotel.

So regardless, even if there were others out there with the appropriate amounts of motivation for it, Angel Dust had kept silently questioning to himself as to whether the responsible one for the ambush had been his Overlord.

On paper it did make some sort of sense, Valentino having the funds and connections to have access to those types of individuals who would be that high grade. Compared to the standard hired gun or street muscle in involved in that line of work, by what had been visually apparent about them, the asking fee hadn’t been chump change.

But still…

The fact that the intent to kill had been so plainly obvious really didn’t add up with the stronger, and more concrete reasons Angel Dust could use in justifying his theory. That kind of motivation was reserved for ending someone you just outright fucking hated… or maybe someone who was a serious violator of a Hell Contract.

It’s been so long since he made his with Val, but he knows that the agreement between them had been one of _exchange_ rather than of _debt_ , even though his boss’s tendency to treat it more like the latter had been displayed more than once over the years.

Abundances of ‘generosity’ being the ‘why’ that was given…

At the end of the day, an Exchange Contract was very straightforward:

One thing for another…

Something for something else…

You give me _this_ , and I’ll give you _that_ …

The spider demon’s had been a promise of protection as well as various luxuries related to an offered lifestyle, his required condition being that he work for Valentino in the various projects that were assigned to him.

‘Projects’ being vague on purpose and at the discretion of his superior, ensuring no wiggle room for interpretation or complaint.

Hell Contracts existed in three forms, the wording that went into them often overlapping but the unholy strings attached dependent on the situation. The ability to make one, generally regarded as a sign of power, was itself reserved for Overlords, Warlords, and any demon who might have had an equivalency of status through another mean.

The ‘noble’ families actively came to mind…

Had his contract been of debt or, even worse, centered around the third and final category of _ownership_ , Angel Dust has no doubt that at this point of time he would have already been fucked six ways from Sunday.

As it stands, he wasn’t violating the deal he had made by currently ghosting from the studio and choosing to spend his days at the Happy Hotel…

…well, _technically_ , he wasn’t.

Valentino could still take on the thought process that despite their history of exchange, despite there being no outstanding ‘balance’, what had been given had been way more than what he had received back. At which point it was very likely he’d track down the spider demon for the purpose of _correcting_ the present ‘imbalance’ by forcefully putting him back to work.

There was more than one person he’d seen his Overlord do this to…

If the moth demon was really that dissatisfied with the arrangement though, the reality was that he could always use the available option of instantly ending, which would take very little effort on his part… but for the sake of reputation, or perhaps because of a _personal_ reason, it was highly unlikely he would ever do so.

_“Don’t sit so far away from daddy, Angel Cakes. C’mere.”_

Val had always been so possessive.

It’s what ultimately causes Angel Dust to suspect that his boss wasn’t the one behind the attempt on his life, because rather than kill him, or just simply let him go and avoid a headache, he believes Valentino would prefer to watch him be repeatedly ‘broken’ over and over.

From the sadistic tendencies that he had been shown in the past, it was likely the moth demon would never grow tired of doing so…

Once more there is a certain amount of relief from the fact that, although Angel had been high as kite while doing so, he had not signed himself into an agreement of higher severity… or shook hands on or repeated a verbal oath or sealed the deal with one of the other few ways it could be done.

He brings the cigarette once more up to his mouth.

The line of thinking is pushed away, instead purposely replaced with a return to the less-than-ideal subject matter before it, even if said topic was only _slightly_ less of a downer and the current reason behind why one of the hotel’s rules was actively being broken.

Smoking was considered a ‘vice’, and if either Charlie or Vaggie caught him doing it, then he would be in trouble, and would get an earful as his reward.

The involved style of reprimanding always led to a temptation of rhetorically asking if the person doing it was his mother…

…which he has indulged in the past, and on the second of the two aforementioned landlords of his.

On purpose, admittedly, but only because it was a good way to see Vaggie explode on him and get her to yell so loud that the walls would shake.

But in fairness to past sins, which he would call humor, he had lately avoided any words that might have instigated an episode of anger from her.

His interactions with Charlie on the other hand… well put plainly, she had begun to act strange.

From the way she behaved, it was like she had this fear that one little mistake, one wrong move on her part, and the spider demon would simply walk out of the hotel’s front doors again and never return.

There was a streak of caution within her decisions, like she was treading on thin ice with him, either displayed by the way she was purposefully choosing to remain around him very briefly during a visit to his room, or how his greetings to her in the short spans of time when he was outside of it were met with short responses that felt dismissive.

He would always get an excuse from her, like she was extremely _busy,_ so they’d talk _later_ , or there was something that required her attention _now_ , but they’d catch up _soon_.

The causes included paperwork, or hotel manager responsibilities, or _whatever_ there was to blame but the dynamic between them had shifted away from the place it had been at only a few days prior...

It was fine though… all of it was _fine,_ because like he had said to Cherri, he was committed to being on his best behavior, so in addition to not _deliberately_ pissing off Vaggie, he would also not give in to the urge to yell at Charlie… even though he _really_ wants to.

More or less, it would be a demand that she stops treating him like he was going to spontaneously combust from just being within eyesight of her.

After thinking about the associated image from the mindset, Angel Dust begins to wonder… was that something she could do?

He knows that she went all horns and fire when she got a certain degree of angry, which he’d seen happen in the highlights from that interview she gave on the 666 News channel.

Like all demons, Charlie possessed a form that was more hellish and sinister in appearance, but unlike the vast majority of everyone else, she actually has access to it.

The ability to change was not universal, Angel himself never having been able to figure out what triggered it or brought it out. To see the Princess, as a few others displaying a similar trait, being able to slip in and out of it so easily…

…on second thought, maybe it’s something about her he shouldn’t try and purposely test.

Still, he knows that he’s not crazy about her reactions to his proximity of late because, for better or worse, Vaggie had also taken notice.

Unsurprisingly, though not without the complimenting feeling of teeth-grinding annoyance, she had approached the situation like the spider demon had done something wrong.

Therefore, because of this perceived, yet still theoretical and unconfirmed, error, it was now warranted that he receive a suspicious or judgmental gaze from her whenever they encountered one another around the hotel.

Be it in the dining room when he wanted to eat somewhere other than his own suite, or at the bar, which before having left the hotel, he had occasionally been allowed to have a drink from due to celebration purposes, or as a reward for the rare, good behavior.

In the hallway worked for her also, even if all he had been doing was getting some air and testing how much pain there was in his leg that day…

An intent to do him bodily harm had always been easily readable in her uncovered eye.

Speaking of the female moth demon though, the apology that Angel had owed to her had fortunately been given just after his return.

Her bringing him his second meal on that day had given him the perfect opportunity to do so.

_He watches her set down the tray of food, reflecting on how the only words so far exchanged between them had been a toneless ‘hey’._

_And that had been only a few seconds ago when he had opened his door to find her standing there._

_This was his chance to set things right and make amends… but how to start?_

_“Ah… Vaggs- err, Vaggie…?”_

_There is no verbal response as she turns to face him, placing her hands on her hips. Within the silent stare she levels at him, he can read an expectation for him to continue._

_It feels like she already knows what he’s going to say._

_Damn, this was going to be a bitch-and-half... he’s already started thinking about the temptation of telling her ‘never mind’ and trying again later when the situation felt more right._

_But then that’d just be him pushing off a debt and would likely just make the whole fucking thing harder in long run…_

_“…I already said my piece ta’ Charlie, but I owe ya’ the same courtesy. It wasn’t right fa’ me ta’ blame you and her for my personal shit, so when I walked outta’ here then and said what said, I was wrong. Not proud of it, and I’m sorry. Ya’ deserve that much from me, even if it don’t mean much ta’ you.”_

_He braces himself for anger, maybe an immediate rejection of his words, but she doesn’t say anything and only keeps looking at him._

_Shit!_

_Maybe she knows that’s what he thought she would do, and is using it against him to make him squirm and get him right where she-_

_“I’m used to people who don’t care about anyone else, Angel,” Vaggie says, interrupting his flare of paranoia that would have consumed his head. “Real pieces of fucking garbage that only think about themselves.”_

_This wasn’t starting off too great…_

_She continues, “First off, it’s not you being an asshole that pisses me off, but the way you don’t think about anyone else while you’re doing it. Charlie, the way you treated her – the way you returned her hospitality AFTER everything, was downright fucking disgusting…”_

_Angel Dust swallows._

_“…especially with that shit you pulled that ended up on the news…” Vaggie shakes her head. “But.. I accept your apology.”_

_Thank God… or maybe Satan in this case? Whoever was responsible, it was now over._

_He feels the tension in his body start to slip away, and he exhales before giving her a small, wordless nod._

_That hadn’t been nearly as difficult as he had expected, but that didn’t mean it had been eas-_

_“However,” she abruptly speaks, the tenor in her voice indicating a serious warning in what was about to follow. “I care a lot about Charlie, and if you ever hurt her like that again, if you EVER fucking forget about how much she’s done for you, I won’t care if she thinks you’re a good person at heart. I will ram my harpoon so far up your ass that I’ll be able to lift you up into the air and wave you around like a God damn flag.”_

_Her unscathed eye narrows in emphasis. “That’s a promise.”_

_Yet again, he doesn’t say anything, but repeats his early form of acknowledgement a few times over to indicate he fully understood. In turn, her expression loses the dangerous intent of delivering consequences in response to more of his misbehavior._

_She looks tired then._

_At this point, it’d probably be wise to give her a ‘thank you’, both for bringing him the food, and accepting the apology, but an instinct – admittedly one of his bad ones – from within forces a different decision to be made._

_“Y’know, that’d sounds like it’d be a helluva’ sight to see…” He snickers, “If I do end up buyin’ it that way, can ya’ at least record it and share it around? Wouldn’t want the ‘Death of Angel Dust’ to be missed by all the fans.”_

_“Stop talking and eat your food.”_

_The ‘idiota’ that is muttered on the demoness’s way out and is just loud enough for Angel Dust to hear, almost sounds endearing._

And then all the weirdness had set in.

If it wasn’t the Princess being so distant towards him, like he had made a mistake, then it was Vaggie looking like she was going to make good on her promise of turning him into a spider shish kebab once she found the confirmation she needed.

What the Hell was he supposed to do then? It’s all starting to make him feel like he’s utterly alone…

While better than thinking that everyone was actively working against him in a highly coordinated plan or some other conspiratorial craziness, it is still not the desirable situation of where he’d like things to be if he intended on staying at the hotel for the long haul.

He could only flirt with Husk for so long and so much before his advances and remarks were returned with only a silent scowl of disapproval… which was hardly fun compared to a loud outburst and an accompanying threat.

Niffty, the cat demon’s coworker, would always greet him as ‘Miss Angel Dust’ and then quickly scurry off to complete a chore before he could properly talk to her.

At some point, he needs to correct her on that… when he’d get the chance to do so, he’s not sure of, but it’s on his list of things to take care of.

From what he could gather, the boss of the pair had recently departed on business and had yet to return to the hotel. They had only interacted once, in passing, but the encounter had stuck despite being such a short span of time.

With his usual smile in place, the Radio Demon had spoken the pornstar’s name and regarded him with an interest that felt different.

Normally, this would have brought a response of a playful grin, the asking of a very personal question or two, and then finally an inviting wink to top off the entire routine… however, Angel’s sense of danger had promptly kicked in and stopped him.

What had been registered at that moment was equal to an active safety hazard, be it an uncontrolled fire at risk of spreading or downed power lines still holding current.

He’s unsure why, because usually that feeling was only reserved for when Valentino was in a mood that meant physical violence was possible, but the look within the Alastor’s crimson-colored eyes had held something that spoke of an issue best kept at a distance.

Not because he would mind if someone tried to know what it was by looking closer, but rather the atmosphere around it held an unknown lethality.

Maybe it’s something Angel would bring up with Cherri the next time she came around, her visits being the only bright spots to look forward to these days…

In the pocket of his robe, he feels a sudden vibration and hears an accompanying buzz. He reaches to retrieve his phone, bringing it up before tapping the screen and seeing an indicator for a new text message.

From Charlie.

**Hey…**

He stares at it.

Should he respond to it right away or wait? Or maybe he should-

**Things are crazy with the hotel right now…**

**Sorry for being so busy…**

An apology.

Sure, it was by text, but hey, he’ll take it.

It’s not like he’s going to make things worse by criticizing her method with the _same_ method, or at least not for this because he might have been unaware of other circumstances affecting the blonde’s actions in relation to him.

Maybe the paperwork and official stuff _was_ as she had described it and he’s just on edge…

He taps out his responses:

**Don’t worry about it Princess**

**Been thinking about a lot anyway**

And wasn’t that the truth…

A reply appears under his last sent message.

**Okay glad to hear!**

There is a smiling face with horns, round in shape and red in color, at the end of the words.

Apparently on Earth all the emoticons by default were yellow and not devil-y… which he supposes makes sense given that the technology was always adapted with an ‘afterlife’ spin when appearing in Hell. The whole mobile telephone achievement had happened way after he had died, anyway, so upon it being ‘imported’, it had been incredibly new to him.

Often, he still gets surprised every now and then by how things have advanced from the 1940’s.

He receives another text…

**Hang out later after dinner? Night in? Movie maybe?**

…there’s an image of a popcorn bag punctuating it.

Again, Angel Dust stares at what she had sent, like doing so would give him the answers to all the questions that existed between Heaven and Earth, Hell simply being where he called home.

Without his consent, his mind starts going places that probably weren’t appropriate in response to what had been suggested, but he finds himself then recalling one of the more recent dreams that had stood out in detail.

He had been under Charlie in such a way where he had a good look at just about everything…

_Stop. Ya’ really want ta’ hafta’ deal with a ‘situation’ right now?_

His fingers move quickly.

**Sure**

**Your place or mine?**

A bit _too_ quickly.

He’s arranged meetings with clients via text before, their number given by his Overlord after the right amount of money had been negotiated and sometimes paid upfront.

Charlie isn’t one of those people, but the manner of their exchange brings similar feelings.

As harmless as the usage of the last phrase had been meant, given that it wasn’t an uncommon saying in other contexts, his stress over things becoming weird between him and Charlie isn’t helped when he takes an action that could be seen as… provocative.

Yet the entire issue could be nothing more than his perception of their interactions being tainted by the dreams, which meant that the tension was a problem that was ultimately _his_ , and his alone.

The span between the receiving of responses is notably longer than before, his brain taking notice and already whispering of a fault committed...

**Your room**

**I’ll try to find something good to watch**

There’s a feeling of relief, which he immediately self-criticizes as him being overdramatic and paranoid.

_How could ya’ do something wrong when she doesn’t even know about the dreams? Stop bein’ dense and pull ya’ head out of your ass…_

**Okay**

**What time you thinking of?**

From her comes:

**8 or 8 30**

**Got to finish something before that**

To which he concludes their back and forth with:

**See ya then toots**

He debates the question of attaching a winking face or one that has the kissing expression, the second option akin to casually writing ‘xoxo’ in a letter, but out of self-consciousness and that inkling of not wanting make things awkward, he simply puts a thumbs up.

Angel Dust goes to inhale from his cigarette once again.

If he was going to constantly be second guessing his actions like this from here on out, then maybe he needs to bring the issue up with Cherri, at least to vent and maybe get it off his mind.

Although… he can already hear her loud ‘I knew it!’.

“Miss Angel Dust?”

Coughs rack his thin frame, the hand holding the Happy Hotel contraband moving behind his back as two others frantically wave to clear the smoke from the surrounding air.

In the meanwhile, he tries to look over as nonchalantly as possible.

“Niffty…” Angel hoarsely replies to her unseen approach.

The small demoness is standing nearby, looking up at him and smiling while apparently not noticing or even caring that the spider demon’s lungs were trying to exit their way out of his chest and into his throat.

She’s hugging a neatly folded piece of clothing to her body, presenting it up to him once he finally regains his composure over his airway…

He looks at it, wondering what- _his jacket!_

Now incredibly confused, his attempts to process going nowhere, he reaches down to take it from her while being utterly speechless. As lets it unfold, he’s still struggling to convince himself that this is really happening, that it’s really in his hands again.

For a few seconds, he considers the possibility that maybe she had gone out and found him one just like it, but just by holding, he knows this one is _his_.

There are no signs of the prior damage and it looks brand new to the point where it’s like it has never been worn at all.

He manages to find his voice.

“Niffty… where did ya… how did…”

She giggles.

“Sorry, Miss Angel Dust! Have to keep that my little secret!”

As she says this, a pout then immediately forms on her face, and she idly looks past him while continuing to speak.

“…though, I usually only do this for Mister Alastor, but everything he wears is all the SAME!” Niffty’s expressed disappointment is emphasized with a soft sigh and the pushing out of her cheeks. “I wish he’d at least _think_ about another color for one of his suits… just one maybe? And Mister Husk doesn’t even wear any clothes…”

Wait, everything Al wore was the same? Did that mean _everything_ …?

He’d have to save that bit of information for some kind of use later on, but for the moment he returns to marveling at the pink haired cyclops’s ability as a seamstress.

Emotions, all good, surge into his body as he looks between her and his repaired signature garment. The troubles with the last few days, the questions surrounding the hit, and the stress revolving around Charlie suddenly become almost insignificant despite how heavily they had occupied his mind just a few moments prior.

It’s a wonderful thing she’s done for him, and she probably didn’t even realize it…

God, if he starts _crying_ …

He swallows, internally yells at himself to stop acting like a ‘pussy’, and then speaks:

“Thank you, Niffty… I really owe ya’ one.”

There comes another giggle, and she puts a finger to her lips as she smiles at him. “Don’t mention it, Miss Angel Dust. I just wanted to help you out ‘cause of all that stuff you’ve been going through… plus, I _really_ liked your jacket and always wanted a chance to work on it!”

_Miss._

Now was the time to take care of this.

“Hey, Niffs,” he clears his throat, “Y’know I’m a guy, right? I mean, I know I have a _little_ bit more of a fashion sense than your everyday rando’, but I _am_ a guy.”

She’s quiet at first, her face losing both focus and expression, but then she tilts her head to a large degree, her focus put squarely on him. “Really? That’s…”

Her face is lowered, hidden from his view as her gaze goes to the floor… before shooting right back up, now gleeful and joined by a wide grin full of pointed teeth.

“…that’s GREAT!”

Suddenly she moves closer, rapidly stepping around him and shifting angles of observation in quick succession. There is a reaction of awe towards him, of discovery, like he’s a unicorn that she’s just spotted in the wild after an incredibly long expedition into the unknown.

One of his lower hands, ungloved like the four currently present, is pulled down as she examines it with a wide-eye, turning it over, and then over again many times more. Her thumbs sweep across the fur on it, rubbing back and forth to explore the texture.

“Hey…” he gently interjects, softly pulling out of her grasp. “Is it really _that_ amazing of a thing?”

“YEP!”

Once again, she takes his hand and repeats what she had just been doing. He doesn’t stop her this time, only reflecting on what a strange little dame she is…

…but he won’t lie, it’s kind of cute just how enthusiastic she’s become and how amazed she is by simply looking at him.

His hand is let go of as she squeals and bounces in place.

“You. Have. No. I-DEA how disappointed I was that there were no men around! …I mean Mister Husk is a guy, and so is Mister Alastor – but they’re already my friends, so it’s nice to finally have a new one who is ALSO a guy!”

She’s talking so fast, and with all the statements that lead into one another and are being swiftly thrown at him, he finds himself at a loss for how to properly reply to the abundance of energy that has burst forth from such a small person…

In the end, he goes with an affirmation of what had brought it on to begin with.

“Well… now ya’ know, sweety.”

“Fat Nuggets’s daddy is a SPIDER!” she says suddenly, releasing a fit of laughter. “Oh my gosh, that’s so CUTE!”

Oh, that’s right.

She’s seen Angel out walking his pet a few times and would always insist on them pausing so that she could take a moment or so to gush over how cute the pig looked in his harness. All the while, she would be rubbing and patting the animal on his head while giving him praise.

In turn, Nuggs seemed to have taken an extra-liking to the female cyclops and would trot happily over to her with every encounter due to an expectation of receiving attention.

He has a sudden thought.

Within his head it is already being labeled as ‘odd’ due to there not being a justifiable reason for it to even be considered in the first place. Why would he have a need for it anyway when the involved situation it stems from was to be between two people who were just friends?

But his mouth is already moving.

“Niffs, baby, could ya’ do me a solid? I know ya’ just did a big one fa’ me by fixin’ the jacket, but Charlie is coming over tonight… and I’m not sure fa’ how long but I think Nuggs would be happier stayin’ with someone who’s gonna’ give him a little more attention than we probably will. Could you…?”

_The fuck are you doing…?_

Another squeal. “Sure! I’d love to! For a few hours for the whole night?”

“Whole night.”

_…what?!_

Judging by her ecstatic filled words and related motions, a ‘sleep over’ with Fat Nuggets is something that Niffty has apparently always wanted. The giving of the opportunity for it by the spider demon looks to be resulting in the same level of appreciation that he had felt with the gift that was his repaired jacket.

If that’s how it truly was for her, then maybe his own standards of appreciation needed to be relooked at…

He then gives her a time to come and pick up the pig, a promise of a list of things she’ll need to know and the required items going to be fashioned together in a bundle to taken with her.

Never once does Angel Dust stop to question his initial decision, or even second guess what he is actually saying to himself by deciding to make the arrangement.

Part of his brain is rationalizing that, yes, Nuggs would be happier staying temporarily with someone who would be more attentive during that time.

He and Charlie would be more focused on each other anyway… because they’re going to be _hanging out_ , even though the Princess probably wouldn’t _mind_ the animal being around, as she also liked him and had instantly agreed to let him stay with Angel in the first place…

…instead of giving it anymore focus, he turns his thoughts towards what he was going to wear.

* * *

**Your place or mine?**

Charlie re-reads the exchange, her attention constantly shifting back to that specific message of his.

She was being silly; Angel Dust didn’t mean anything by it, so why was she giving those words his so much thought?

It’s not like her need to do so had anything to do with the dreams she had every night where her and the spider demon would be doing… well, doing _stuff_ …

No, not at all.

And it _really_ didn’t have anything to do with how her heart rate would speed up when she was near him, and as a result she had begun to stay away, trying to rationalize the guilt of her decision by saying it was because she wanted to ‘give him some space’.

Nope, no idea why.

Obviously, the dreams and the instances of masturbating to get himself off from the urges that followed every single time didn’t mean anything, and she was just going through what could be called a small, out of place… _fixation_ with him.

She struggles to find another word, because it _definitely_ wasn’t an obsession and she’d _strongly_ deny any accusation that it was.

That would mean lust was involved, and aside from it being a sin that was a contradiction to the Happy Hotel’s message of self-improvement and possible redemption, she knows that feeling it for Angel was highly inappropriate given the context.

He is her first patron, and if not more importantly, her friend.

Any emotion driving her thoughts towards him had to have been born out of concern. He had almost lost his life, almost been gone forever from hers, and she was still trying to properly make peace with the fear that had come from that close call.

And so, arranging a simple get-together, one on one, _alone_ … is having more thought put into it than what it actually deserved.

No deeper meanings, no intentions…

…Charlie bites her lip as she fails to believe her own prior arguments.

_Damn it._

“You okay, hon?”

Vaggie is sitting beside her.

The moth demoness is currently helping with the large amount of paperwork concerning the ordering of kitchen supplies for the future needs of any number of occupants that might come. There’s also the required upkeep that’ll come with cleaning the large number of rooms that the hotel possesses.

From the way her friend is looking at her, there’s not an outright indication of worry, but an interest in what thoughts she might be preoccupied with.

Unfortunately, Charlie has kept the issue regarding a particular male sinner to herself… but she relents and gives in to a degree, because after all, it’s _Vaggie_.

“…yeah, I just was thinking about… well, I was thinking about Angel. I was wondering if he’s doing alright being back at the hotel, and if he was getting stressed because he can’t go out. And… well…”

“Did he do something?”

It is said in a serious tone, and almost sounds like, ‘did he hurt you?’.

Charlie’s eyes widen. “N-no. Why do you ask?”

“Whenever you’re around him, I’ve noticed it’s like you’re immediately looking for a way not to be.”

The guilt that had been steadily building from that behavior of hers increases tenfold.

She feels awful… has that been what it’s looked like to everyone else?

Is that what it looked like to _him…_?

“So I thought maybe he did something to make you like that.”

Clearing her throat, Lucifer’s heir shakes her head, “No, he hasn’t done anything, Vaggie… not to me.”

Outside of naughty, highly memorable dream world that is...

“…I just don’t want to overwhelm him. S-so I’ve been trying to give him a little space for now, so he doesn’t get the wrong idea…” Hastily, she finishes, “-about being back at the hotel, I mean!”

It’s clear that from the way her friend watches her, she suspects that something else is going on, but instead she ends up nodding slowly, and then going to speak.

“Between him, and Alastor’s bullshit, and trying to repair the hotel enough so we can give it a proper opening, I just have to make sure you’re not putting too much pressure on yourself.” She looks at Charlie, and affectionately smiles, “If there’s anything that’s bothering you, hon, you know you can tell me.”

The day that Hell’s Princess had met Vaggie is one she will be forever thankful for.

In truth, their first encounter had just been by _chance_ , as she had been in the middle of being lost and struggling to figure out what part of Pentagram City she was in after having more than once turned down the incorrect street.

The confusion in blonde’s dark eyes, as it had been later been described by the female moth, had been so noticeable that Vaggie had felt compelled to approach and help.

After which, instead of just sending her on her way after having given the much-needed directions, she had chosen to accompany her all the way to the destination.

It right then and there that Charlie knew she simply couldn’t let Vaggie walk away and out of her life.

Hell’s populace of sinners usually kept their distance from those who were Hellborn, either out of a wariness because of the mistreatment that occurred more often than not, or in her case, as she had experienced repeatedly, indifference to the status she held.

To encounter someone like Vaggie, who hadn’t approached with the expectation of being rewarded for her offered assistance and didn’t just treat her differently outright due to separation in their social classes, was a rarity.

An exchange of names, which led to one of numbers, had been followed up with them meeting once again and then continually after. Emerging from it all had been a powerful friendship, the like of which she can’t say she’s ever had with anyone else.

It is a bond that Charlie is constantly reminded of and cherishes just as strongly with each time.

Returning the smile, she responds, “I know. Thank you, Vaggie.”

“And we’re in this together, so don’t forget that I’m here to help with anything you need. All you have to do is ask, okay?”

Upon hearing this, a question pops into her brain.

Being Hellborn, and even more so a member of the royal family, meant that she had for the longest time only interacted with those just like her. Most demons of high status, such as the nobles and those at the the top of Hell’s hierarchy, were incredibly isolated from everyone else.

As such, when it came to the knowledge shared among sinners, Vaggie tended to be a bit more aware than her.

It’s what prompts the blonde, after having debated for a few minutes as to whether or not she should, to speak the question, “What do you know about Angel Dust?”

Her friend, having moved her attention back to the workload in front of her, remains focused on it as she answers, “Aside from the obvious?”

Maybe she _shouldn’t_ have asked…

Vaggie then looks at her. “Are you being serious?”

Charlie gives a hesitant nod.

Silences holds between them, moth demoness looks at her as if trying to decipher another meaning behind the question… but after a moment, she goes to answer:

“He’s been here longer than I have, but I don’t remember the year he’s originally from. He didn’t always work for Valentino, but eventually got discovered by him and became one of his main favorites. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard about it.” She glances away momentarily from Hell’s Princess. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what it means…”

There is a pang of sadness and pity for Angel.

No, no she didn’t…

“…some people say that he has family down here, others say he doesn’t, really depends on who you talk to though.” Vaggie curses in Spanish. “He’s friends with _that_ … with Cherri, and apparently every now and then they have a ‘night out’, which means there’s usually a building or two that explodes, but with all the sinner stuff that happens in Pentagram, it’s not really surprising...”

_Cherri._

Though Vaggie had used the word ‘friends’, the fact alone that the cyclops demoness was female is enough to make her wonder if there was anything more to the relationship.

Not because that might mean an answer which would allow for something else entirely to be possible…

“…they’re just friends?”

“Of course, Charlie, you know the kind of things Angel does… or did, especially when he worked for Valentino. I mean, some of the stuff I’ve heard over the years about him, and this is from what I even _care_ to remember, has been around the people he’s been… well, I don’t think I’d call it _serious_ with, but all the big ones he’s supposedly been in ‘relationship’ with have been guys… and there’s also _Valentino_ anyway.”

The response had been one Charlie expected, but the slimmer of hope from wanting otherwise leads to a feeling of disappointment. She nods the information, chastising herself for even considering the chance to begin with.

Now she really _was_ being silly, setting herself up for failure by thinking that-

“Well…”

Her eyes snap to Vaggie. “Huh?”

Sighing, her friend gives a shake of her head… but does continue on:

“You remember that bar I used to work at before we met, the one I’ve told you about before? I had a co-worker, used to be a friend of mine, who was a big fan of his. Her place even had a bunch of the merchandise Valentino has put out, like plushies, posters, and… and a body-pillow… I can’t even believe that _exists_ for Angel Dust…”

The other woman’s face scrunches in obviously disapproval. “Well, she absolutely followed everything he did, and kept up with all the rumors and gossip that came out about him.”

Charlie quietly listens on with what feels like bated breath.

“She always swore that there was a member of one of the upper families, a daughter from one of the big ones with an important name, that Angel Dust was dating. In secret, or that’s how it sounded when she talked about it.”

Confusion enters her voice as she tries to repeat the remembered words of another.

“…and she apparently knew this because she had a _friend,_ who was a servant for _that_ family, and that friend had told _her_ that they saw _him_ arrive more than once, and at certain times of the day when no one would notice… something close to that.”

One of the noble families?

“Do you… do you remember if she ever said who- which family?”

Vaggie shakes her head.

“Honestly, Charlie, it was such a long time ago, and I might not have repeated that back to you correctly. But it was a daughter from one of them, and Angel was apparently seeing her.” She looks over and then remarks, “You grew up from that world and know more about it than I do. Did you ever hear anything close to that?”

“No… or I don’t think so.” She considers the given information, but nothing comes to mind. “P-probably just a rumor. Thanks, Vaggs.”

They both go to return their focus on the paperwork presently sitting on the large desk of Charlie’s office, but the mind of Hell’s Princess begins to race, becoming preoccupied by what had been told to her and the implications that it could mean.

_It’s a rumor and it’s probably untrue… but what if it isn’t? What if Angel Dust was really seeing a person – a girl from the noble houses?_

She can’t help but think over all the potential female candidates who could have been the secret mystery affair…

As stated by Vaggie, she had indeed grown up around a few of them, which included having gone to the same school and as a result might just know them simply by name.

_Minerva, Sarana, Adline, Risora, Dalia…_

The name _Octavia_ enters her head, but she connects it to the daughter of Stolas, which means the timeline and age didn’t fit.

_Helsa…_

An immediate flare of jealousy emerges at the mere possibility it could have been _her_ , but Charlie quickly takes a breath and gains control over it before it can manifest further and then potentially spread outward visibly.

Did the answer really matter though? She was basing this off a rumor that was beyond second hand at this point…

No… no, she needs to accept reality and get this whole thing out of her head.

After all, she had committed to focusing on being Angel’s friend after the first dream because it was the _right_ thing to do, and once more the daughter of Lucifer resolves to follow this mindset. With a conscious effort, she lets go of the prior conversation’s topic, and returns to working on the documents still waiting for her attention.

Her mind turns to other things, such as if dinner needs any further preparations before being served, if it was time for her to do another load of laundry, and how she should probably take a shower later before going to see Angel Dust…

…and if she should give any area of her body extra care.

Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **12/12/20:** Minor edits/further corrections.
> 
>  **12/14/20:** Corrected a piece of dialogue that slipped by (silly me) in relation to Angel's family to reflect earlier chapter. This should be the final edits for "Nowhere to Go" unless something grammatically wrong (improper spelling, missing word/words, missing punctuation) is still present.


	8. Nothing to Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel Dust reflects upon various aspects of his past, trying to determine how it relates to the here and now.
> 
> Charlie arrives in the meanwhile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shoutout to **SoloSoso** for their story, **Leaving Me To Doubt**  
>  I'd highly recommend giving it a read!
> 
>  **2/6-7/2021:** Some tweaks with phrasing, and minor expansion here and there. Mostly around the last Angel section and prior events. Ideally, one more day of holding onto this chapter would have been wise, but too late now~

A sharp intake of air fills his lungs.

This is not _real_ ; he is not seeing _this_.

With his palms digging almost painfully into the edge of the raised flat surface that is directly to his front, an internal and upward assault of denial just barely kept in check, his gaze ticks between a pair of light green eyes that move perfectly in synch. Other facial features readily jump out at him, grabbing his attention in such a way that he can’t help but stare at what he once knew so intimately.

_Oh, fuck…_

There’s the presence of a thin nose, of hair that is closer to blonde than brown and partially kept in order with the usage of pomade. In the left brow exists a faint scar from a close encounter with a knife – _far_ _too close_ in hindsight – that was only ever really noticed by others when they stood at just the right distance… though it was hardly ever a point of contention in comparison to the set of cheeks that were a bit too hollow to be natural.

And when Angel Dust briefly reflects upon it, it’s easy to label them a strong testament to all the ignored warnings and concern given by others over the years in response to an ever-increasing drug habit… that had eventually led to the _predictable_ and _final_ consequence of a fatal overdose.

It’s become hard to breathe as a ghost flawlessly matches the exact same expression of distress and bewilderment that the spider demon holds.

He shuts his eyes, the inklings of nausea surfacing.

This face… it’s…

It’s the face of someone in their early thirties, still remarkably boyish in many regards despite middle age being just around the corner and the existence of physical markers that often came with prolonged substance abuse.

The latter, which did little to speak of the overall severity of the associated problem, had resulted in them becoming so out of it – so fucking _useless_ that they had ended up in the nuthatch when they had been needed most. Had the detriments of chasing numerous highs not been consuming this person’s mind, certain events could have played out differently, and the consequences of losing the entirety of their family might have been prevented.

It’s not an unfamiliar line of thinking to Angel Dust because he’s had it before…

…because the face in question is _his_.

How long has it been since he had last seen it…?

He lowers his head and locks his arms in the hopes of finding an anchor against a surge of dizziness that is accompanied by a sense of familiarity that goes to leave a bad taste in his mouth. Keeping even and steady breaths becomes a struggle as every instinct in his body screams that there is no possible way that he could be currently viewing what was the stark, haunting image of his old self from when he was _alive_ and _human_ …

…it feels so _wrong_ , and the only explanation that he can think of to justify it is that he must be experiencing one of those flashbacks he’s heard about that were sometimes linked to heavy usage of his namesake.

In the meanwhile, his mind is dragged back to the period of time that had followed his colossal and most significant _fuck-up_ , the best immediate description he can think of being to call it an endless loop of self-hatred and self-destructive behavior.

The exacts are a blur, and for the most part lost to his recollection, but there are brief instances of clarity when his head would break above what felt like an ocean’s surface that sat above an endless depth of bleak days and misery.

Of course, instead of accepting the losses that were the result of _his_ mistakes, he’d always pull himself back down rather than face the reality of it.

From one or two well-known methods of finding a deliberate and artificial apathy, the kind where he could give _fuck all_ about his problems or anyone else’s, he had managed to keep lying to himself about how just how badly he was suffering after having been left totally alone in the world.

In the long run it had been just delaying the inevitable…

Whatever the answer to the prior question revolving around seeing his old self is in the end one of irrelevancy. The purpose of even asking to begin with was not to find knowledge that was factually correct, but to simply reflect on what had preceded, and perhaps even arguably _warranted_ , his arrival in Hell.

Having done so, he is able to think up another appropriate comparison that might have been applied to his _then_ life, going on to holding it akin to tripping and falling down a flight of stairs… with an accompanying final, and oh-so hard stop at what had been the very bottom…

There is a single word – a _name_ that pops into his head.

He has the immediate urge to lie to himself, to take on the blatantly false belief that it didn’t have any relevancy to him and only holds meaning to someone else, but doing so is childish… or at best, wishful thinking.

The rare few who were aware of it beyond its mere existence, with Cherri notably being one of that small number, either used it _sparingly_ , understanding what speaking it aloud meant to him, or there was no longer any risk of him hearing it from their mouths due to a deliberate or not so deliberate choice of having cut contact them long ago…

…but who the fuck was he kidding?

Staying away on purpose from those who mostly made up the second group is a meaningless gesture, the individuals he goes to think of more than likely responding to his presence alone by telling him to ’get fucked’, or just offering a more creative way of saying ‘drop dead’.

_Ya’know that’s fuckin’ BS… one of them would welcome ya’ with open arms if ya’ just reached out ta’ her…_

Discomfort washes over him as he inhales slowly, releasing it a moment later before forcefully pushing the thought away before it couldn’t be avoided. Thinking about his sister at that moment would only lead to him being further consumed by his own negativity.

It is then that Angel Dust finds the resolve to lift his head and opens his eyes, finding that the reflection in his bathroom mirror, of a visage that belonged to a history he had thought long buried, is no longer present. Pink irises, so foreign in appearance compared to the prior shades of green, now stare back at him with confusion.

Blinking, he remains still, not daring to move a muscle, as if doing so would shatter the large square of glass before him… but a moment passes and he finally removes his hands from the sink’s counter, absently running one through his hair as he turns off the faucet, which he realizes had been left open during the entirety of his… his…

…he supposes it could have been a _hallucination_ , but shit… where had it come from?

Typical and unoriginal as it may have sounded, and disregarding his earlier theory in the process, he blames the incident on stress… yet at the same time, the voice of paranoia is attempting to convince him that the reason might have something to do with his recent decision to up his painkiller intake.

A presence of shoddy reasoning was already beginning to make itself known, and he fears that he’d soon be talking himself into making more and more terrible decisions no matter how ‘correct’ they sounded within his own brain. In comparison to his string of recent choices, poor as they might have _been_ , the new difference would be night and day.

It reminds him his need to purposefully stop the self-medication effort on his own terms, and how it has been weighing on his mind. Doing so would mean dealing with whatever pain that would linger on for an unknown amount of time but would in turn prevent the physical dependency that was going to take hold otherwise.

An eventuality; not a question of.

If – _when_ – that occurred… the consequences of his contraband stash running dry would be more severe, more debilitating, and there’d be the risk of him beginning to behave in such a way that might make his continual stay at the Happy Hotel next to impossible.

Flawed logic, twisted by his need for a fix, would warp his world view to a point where the process of detox would look like a Hell worse than… well, _Hell._

Which meant that he’d only end up hurting those around him.

He begins to grind his teeth as he thinks of a few errors in recent judgement.

Why had he skipped dinner? His stomach had been on the fritz of late, but being mostly, if not _entirely_ empty would only make him stressed…

…and why had he told Niffty to take Fat Nuggets for the night?

The flare of anxiety from the prior line of thinking, around mistakes both possible and known, bring a harsh rebuking from within in addition to a wish that he had better control over his brain and his mouth. Possessing such a quality would have allowed for some avenue of escape when it came to the issues being struggled with right then, especially when considering his pet’s special ability.

No matter the sort of shit he had been dealing with, Nuggs had always been perceptive to the point of being near similar to a therapy animal and serving the associated role when sensing the mood of his owner in the past.

He would prod the spider demon with his snout or move his head under one of his hands to force his attention on giving pets while oinking in the meanwhile. Simply recalling the behavior is enough to put a small amount of affectionate warmth in Angel’s body, and makes him think about how he had stumbled across the piglet by _chance_ , finding him in the garbage…

…which thankfully had been before he was someone’s meal that day.

His thoughts shift from his pet to the temporary caretaker watching over him at present.

The little demoness had stopped by an hour ago for retrieval and had been so full of energy and enthusiasm that Angel Dust would have bought the idea that she had taken a fist full of uppers before arriving at his suite.

He had held an expectation for her to ask more about the driving motivation behind why the porn star had requested the favor of watching over the pig, even running through a few potential excuses in preparation, but she had apparently accepted what she had been told at face value.

There had been no other acknowledgement as to what circumstances had led to her taking up the role that had her describing herself as, ‘aunt Niffty’ to a happily oinking Nuggs.

At least… not directly if he had been reading her correct.

Holding the leash that connects to the pig’s harness in her hand, a small box of supplies being held also, the sole maid of the Happy Hotel had looked back at him, showing pointed teeth with an expression in her single eye that he could not pin down, but spoke of an implied meaning beyond what was there.

The ‘goodbye’ she had given was stuck in his memory:

_“Have fun, Mister Angel Dust! I’ll see you and Miss Charlie tomorrow!”_

Fun.

You AND Miss Charlie.

In response, his mind – admittedly dirty, which he holds no shame over despite it proving to be somewhat of a constant source of irritation lately – had been already thinking back to the dreams, proposing various ways the evening could potential play out… and _end._

To which he had _forcefully_ reminded himself that his landlord wasn’t looking for _that_ kind of evening, that there were _professional_ circumstances in addition to the friendship that was shared between them, and that Niffty’s parting words hadn’t meant anything else than relaying a giggly farewell.

Still, he can’t help but wonder otherwise…

_Charlie ain’t a client and ya’ not on tha’ clock… relax._

It’s a reassurance that, unsurprisingly, fails to make any headway into his overall mood.

There are several thoughts that need to be avoided, namely those around the unwelcomed ‘episode’ from earlier, and after leaving his bathroom with the belief that he was now ‘alright’, he goes to sit on his bed. It isn’t long before one leg begins to bounce restlessly, the selected distraction he selects being to occupy himself with the topic of his outfit for the _arranged_ get together with Hell’s Princess.

For what is probably the sixth – maybe _seventh_ – time, he reaffirms his choices while ignoring a neurotic urge to stand up and completely start the process over from the beginning.

The line of thinking that had been involved had started simple enough, with his jacket having been made the initial and cornerstone piece of his current ensemble thanks to its return. Complimented by his bowtie, the garment would be followed by the addition of his usual gloves, which were now clean of any blood due to being scrubbed in his sink.

Double breasted shorts, baggy sweats, or even one of his standard skirts had been considered, debated, and nearly agonized over as options for the remainder of his outfit. Two hours of going through a process of selection had led to the decision of going with black denim cutoffs and replacement of his boots with socks that were of the same color and went up to his thighs in their length.

It wasn’t a ‘going out’ outfit, not one that would fit his definition anyway, but for the purpose of staying in and lazing around – and _only_ lazing around – it would serve its function.

And why not look good too while indulging in a particular clothing related fetish?

The combination allows him to muse over the notion that the gap that exists between two of the items on his lower body, the space or t _erritory_ that was his exposed ‘skin’, tended to drive a unique type of individual crazy when it came to kink in the fashion world.

If asked, he’d much prefer to cater to that crowd over the one obsessed with what was attached just below his ankle. Considering the anatomy he possesses down there being akin to a ‘paw’, it feels like something to keep out of sight… and how many people knew that spiders had those anyway?

His death, coincidentally, had been what had enlightened him to that fact…

A quick peek at his phone says that it’s just a little past eight.

There isn’t much time left until Charlie’s arrival, the ever-shrinking increment involved being of a ‘sooner rather than later’ type classification. However, it unfortunately comes with a worry towards a potential subject that could be brought up at some point in the evening.

His landlord hadn’t pressed him any further about what went down in North Pentagram, and of the activity that he and Cherri had been engaged in at the time.

While he’s thankful that it hadn’t been discussed or brought up again thus far, that didn’t mean that it was no longer a risk of being a conversation point. To which, he’d be forced into a position that would either mean _lying_ to her – which doesn’t sit well with him – or having to take the risk of placing an unnecessary burden upon her with the relaying of the truth and all the presently known details around it.

Maybe she wouldn’t, and his thoughts on the issue are meaningless.

Perhaps she simply believes that he knows full well that he had done something that was wrong, and now that he was back at the hotel, it didn’t need to be addressed any further. Maybe due to the assumption that he’d make no effort to defend or justify the poor decision making that had been involved…

…though if she _did_ ask, he has no doubt that she’d begin to worry if the perspective of honestly was engaged in with the telling of his answers.

He immediately dislikes the imagined expression of concern she would wear, her eyes wide at the idea that there was someone out there actively trying to _kill_ him – the ‘they can get in line’ type joke that he thinks of would probably be _unhelpful_ – and that he might very well be danger.

It’s not that the expected response from her isn’t appreciated, as he believes it comes from a good place given that she saved his _life_ after all, but with everything that she’s done for him up until that point, it feels unfair to pull her into what is _another_ problem of his.

It feels almost selfish...

There’s a light knocking at his door, and his gaze snaps towards the sound as unease enters his body.

He freezes, unmoving and doing his best impression of a statue.

The part of his mind that has been largely critical of his recent actions wastes no time in opportunistically scoffing and then make mocking remarks on the behavior, just at it had been doing with everything else.

_Settin’ yaself’ up fa’ more shit, fucko. Ya’ need to pull back and think before ya’ do something stupid and ruin tha’ good thing ya’ have with her._

It’s good advice…

…that is barely acknowledged as he stands, reaches up to adjust his chest fluff, takes a final glance at himself in one of his room’s mirrors, and then goes to answer.

* * *

Charlie worries her bottom lip.

Should she knock again? What if he was in the bathroom and didn’t hear her? Maybe she should-

The door opens and her frenzied train of thought is derailed as Angel looks down at her… having no awareness towards the fluttering that appears in her chest.

“Angel!”

It comes off a bit too enthusiastically, and she has the urge to kick herself. If he notices, he doesn’t give any hint of it, only responding with a soft smile… that then widens and allows his gold tooth to come into view as _that_ look appears on his face.

He lowers his head slightly, answering with a strongly formal: “Your _highness_.”

_Wha-_

“Hey!” she protests, suddenly feeling indignant at the usage of a verbal indication of status while completely forgetting anxious thoughts from only seconds ago. Her expression becomes one of confusion and slight distress as she responds, “D-don’t do that! I don’t like friends doing the whole royal, title thing-y…”

For a moment, he only watches her, but then lets out a laugh that is so obviously filled with amusement from her reaction that she huffs, a little annoyed and ready to chide him for the behavior. Before she is able, however, he holds up his hands for her to see in an apparent gesture of peace and defusal.

“Sorry, toots, I couldn’t resist. Was wonderin’ what kind offa’ face you’d make…. ‘Princess’ still work fa’ ya’? Neva’ seen anythin’ as fun from it.”

There’s a preference within her that he just ultimately use the abbreviated version of her name that she tends to ask of from others, but Charlie decides not to feed into what is an apparent attempt to tease for the purpose of getting a rise.

She’ll concede to the nickname while making a request of him in return, as a demand isn’t in her nature nor wise if she wants to avoid his game.

But in the meanwhile, she’ll still _inwardly_ sigh and once more lament his need to be _frustrating_.

“F-fine… but could you maybe try to use ‘Charlie’ a little bit more? We’ve known each other for a while now, so it only seems right…”

A smirk appears on his lips.

“Ehh, I’ll try ta’ make a mental note ta’ remember just cuz’ ya’ asked…”

After which, he steps to the side of his doorway, still holding the same expression while then moving to gesture in a way that overly exaggerates ‘welcome’ or ‘come on in’. To his recent response, he continues, “Ya’ wanna’ come in now… _Charlie_?”

“Yes, please.”

Though it had been a rather brief exchange, a degree of appreciation for it comes at the slight increase of control she is granted over her nerves as a result… which then _immediately_ vanishes the moment she hears him close the door, leaving them seemingly alone, as there are no audible oinks or any other signs of his pet pig being around.

Where was Fat Nuggets?

She turns to asks, but halts upon taking notice of the fact that he currently wears what is an item of clothing that could be described as signature to his ‘look’…

…which shouldn’t be at all _possible_ due to the memory of the various amounts of highly visible damage that the jacket had sustained being still easy to picture, and not even faded in the slightest within her recollection given how recent the driving causation was.

Her mouth falls open as she eyes it, thinking back to how it had looked during the removal process when they had arrived at the hotel after his rescue. From where she stands, the several strings of lights in Angel’s room illuminating its pattern, it has a look of being _unbelievably_ brand new.

Was it the same one as before? Or had he been keeping a backup just like it this entire time…? The best she can do to express the prior thoughts is a broken statement that acknowledges the topic.

“…your jacket… it…”

“Hafta’ thank Niffs fa’ that.” He says, thankfully reading her thought process. “Little housemaid has some talents otha’ than cleanin’, it seems.”

She only nods, still a little bit stunned by what is apparently a perfect level of repair but finally able to close her mouth so she’s not standing there gaping like an idiot and embarrassing herself more than she might have already done so.

From the remainder of his outfit comes a feeling that could be considered borderline to envy.

His ability to make himself look good in just about anything is far superior – or at least that’s how she thinks of it – to her own fashion tendencies when it came to clothing, which included buying a new item and then instantly regretting it or simply never taking it out to even wear in the first place.

It’s a rather depressing topic for her, admittedly, especially given that there are probably quite few items she has in her closet that are continuing to collect dust…

She had chosen her usual work attire, red blazer and all, before coming here… but she now regrets the decision of not having put a little bit more thought into the matter.

Not because of _her_ own considerations with comfort, as she’s sure she could have found _something_ to wear that would fill that role, but perhaps to actually look nice for _him_ despite the question of his ‘interest’ in her being up for debate.

_…what do you mean ‘debate’, Charlie? I thought we decided that there was no possibility of that, and we needed to stay his friend anyway! You’re being a dummy!_

Once again it appears she is being ‘silly’, perhaps even acting as a ‘dummy’ as an inner voice describes her line of thinking around the issue. For some reason, her mind is trying to trick her into what feels like a false sense of reality, to make her believe notions that were just plain ridiculous…

…but… what if he _had_ noticed? What if he even _said_ something about it? How would she have responded to _that_?

And what if he gave her a compliment…?

“If ya’ wonderin’, Nuggs is staying with her,” Angel says, interrupting her struggle of an internal conflict over what could be, what might be, and then what probably wasn’t.

So they really _were_ alone…

“Cuz’ I thought we’d be kinda’ busy, ya’ know? Ya’ text said something about watchin’ a movie? I’m guessin’ that’s what ya’ holdin’?”

Oh... right…

She had forgotten that in her possession is a plain, rectangular case completely devoid of labels save for a single piece of white tape that has a word written on it with black sharpie.

On the list of things that should or even _needed_ to be done to help their redemption efforts at the hotel, implementing an internet connection that could be used by any future residents is located somewhere in the ‘near-future-but-probably-not-soon’ category of priorities.

Given that the building had been pretty much left to fall into ruin by her family, the process of repairing it back to normal was very much still ongoing, and therefore she really couldn’t make any sort of guess as to when that could possibly be.

Still, once it was taken care of, having privileges like being able to access sites like VoxTube or enjoy movies on Voxflix would make good incentives in encouraging positive behavior. It’d be an additional means of reminding sinners why there were there to begin with, and perhaps also a way to have an organized group activity together.

For now though, it would have to be put aside until they were closer to the grand reopening, and therefore they’d just have to make do with other, physical based options of entertainment.

Of which, the spider demon tilts his head and reads its makeshift label aloud.

“Casablanca?”

The way he says it puts the second part of the pronunciation like ‘blank’ rather than ‘blonk’, making her question if her estimation of the film’s era of creation in relation to him had been incorrect.

Regardless, she nods, responding, “I have a lot of musicals, but I didn’t think you’d be a fan of any of them… well, maybe you wouldn’t think they’d be that entertaining… this other one I found, from what I remember about it, I think it could have been made around the time you were alive…?”

Truth be told, it was by random luck that she even had it.

Her collection of musicals from the world of the living had, from time to time, been interjected with films from other genres. For as long as she could remember, the servants who had been tasked by her father with retrieving the requested material, sometimes had a tendency not to fully understand what had been exactly asked of them.

It meant receiving the occasional pleasant surprise, a movie that would actually be of interest to her and held onto beyond the discovery… but it also meant becoming aware that humans liked to film all kinds of… stories.

Provided there even _wa_ s one, and it wasn’t just an erotic display of two or more people. The titles were what tended to baffle her more than anything…

Her last spoken sentence causes an unknown to flash behind Angel Dust’s eyes, the emotion vanishing just as soon as it appears. He then looks away, apparently thinking over the subject for a moment and rubbing the back of his head before speaking, “Yeah… yeah, I think so.”

With Vaggie not being able to give her an answer, she had thought about going to the Radio Demon to ask if he possessed any knowledge that would give her an answer as to the spider’s year of origin.

Unfortunately, Alastor had yet to return from his ‘private business’, a topic that she can’t help slightly worry over because of the nature of his reputation, which had more or less been expressed to him right before he had departed.

_“No need to fret, my dear! It’s merely a private affair that needs to be inquired about to ensure there is no active dubious intent!”_

It was a vague explanation at best, one that she had thought over a few times and even said aloud to herself to ensure that she had properly understood…

…which she _thinks_ she does.

In the end, with no other options available, she had decided to make her best guess.

“S-so you’ve seen it before?”

It is apparent that he puts some consideration into how he wants to phrase his response.

“…not… not how I would ansa’ that question.” Angel runs a hand through his bangs. “Ta’ be honest, Princess, I was in tha’ theater as it was playin’, but… well, I was usually focused on… somthin’... _else._ Some people like ta’ take their, ah, _dates_ in there fa’ otha’ things than tha’ picture… If ya’ catch my drift?”

For better or for worse… she does.

“Uhh… well… we – we could always watch something else if you wa-”

“It’s fine, toots,” he interjects, a look of gratitude being offered to say that he appreciates her attempt to be accommodating. “Been so long I can hardly rememba’ anything about the film. And this time I can actually focus on what’s goin’ on ‘cuz you and I won’t be… _preoccupied_ with otha’ things.”

Her throat dries, and she blushes for a second time in what is the span of a minute or so.

A few scenarios play in her head as to what they could possibly be _preoccupied_ with, then being correlated with the various positions she found herself in while being in one of the dreams that involved him… but she forces herself to laugh at the remark.

He was _only_ being humorous in saying it as his expression suggests, so she presses on with, “N-no, I don’t think that will be a problem.”

“I’ll get it set up then… ya’ wanna’ go make some popcorn? Minifridge is full of stuff ta’ drink-”, at her slight frown, he quickly adds, “Non-alcoholic, sweetheart, I promise. I rememba’ tha’ rules. Give me a lil’ bit of credit.”

The mention of food reminds her of the fact that he had been absent from the dining hall earlier, leaving only her, Vaggie, and Niffty to eat dinner alone. With no Radio Demon around, that had only left Husk, who had opted to nurse a bottle and remain at the front desk until he’d ‘deal’ with his own hunger later.

Come to think of it, she can’t seem to recall an instance where Angel has eaten a good amount of a decent meal in terms of what they brought to him or when meals were served downstairs. What was taken to him, also having been confirmed with Vaggie, tended to come back only slightly touched, and though she wants to ask him if he’s feeling alright, and if there was a specific reason for the current appetite he has, she ultimately relents.

As much as she wants to inquire into this aspect of his wellbeing, after everything that’s happened so far, she doesn’t wish to overwhelm him with her worries and potentially push him away by doing so…

…yet another one of her faults, but she’ll freely admit to this one also.

“Okay,” she says, smiling and handing him the case.

After taking it, he examines it for a moment, and then looks directly into her before giving a playful wink, with his next few words sharing the same tone that had been put into the gesture.

“Haven’t seen ya’ that much with ya’ bein’ so busy these past few days. Hurry back, babe… otha’wise I’m goin’ ta’ start missin’ ya’ again.”

_Again._

She silently repeats it to herself as she goes to leave, becoming painfully aware of another sensation that has made a sudden reappearance.

That damn fluttering from earlier is once more being felt.

* * *

The moment Charlie is gone, Angel Dust lets out a shaky breath.

_See? Worryin’ over nuthin’._

It’s not an entirely convincing thought, but it’s a start at least…

Compared to the displayed mood from what was just a few seconds ago, the release is near alien in its feel but not without appropriate reason.

Opening the door and seeing her standing there had led to him momentarily forgetting how to speak, with his struggle for finding a response to give only ending. upon hearing his name from her mouth. At which point, what could be considered instincts of survival had promptly kick in.

His immediate thought process had been one that was somewhere in the vein of telling a joke in order to ‘break the ice’, two potential options emerging in that split second with both having to do with how he would go about greeting her.

A simple ‘Charlotte’ would have done the trick, which was at best engaging in mild teasing, but the pursuing of utilizing what was considered super formal language, and not his usual style, had ultimately won out.

The latter, knowing of its effect from overhearing her feelings about it beforehand, had fortunately presented him enough time to collect himself, and while it may have been successful in that regard, he had still been keeping certain thoughts at bay in the background while they had spoken.

In truth, he’s slightly irritated, because talking to Charlie shouldn’t have been this difficult or involve the use of a special kind of technique, especially since at this point, he firmly believes that there was no question to them genuinely being friends.

Her request around her name had displayed it perfectly.

Furthermore, just being able to talk to her about regular things without any sort of additional reason involving an ulterior motive or an aspect that relates to his career in Hell has provided him with something _different_ that he finds to be enjoyable…

A parallel is drawn between Hell’s Princess and another individual.

Although he doesn’t wish to make the equivalency between them, given that he’s doesn’t want to fall back into the line of thinking it would involve, he still ends up putting his past relationship with Helsa right next to his standing with Charlie.

It’s hard to ignore a certain qualifier that they both hold: the status of having family names that were regarded with importance, even if the amount of respect given was varied. As a sinner and not a native of Hell, he doesn’t understand it that well, but they’re still both more powerful than him in one way or another, and he can’t help but wonder if this has factored into them obtaining some kind of emotional investment from him.

Yet a number of things have played out differently and _remain_ different than their comparison.

Conversation wise, serious or not, hadn’t been too common with the former of the two. It existed, but the quantity could probably be counted on two of his hands.

His interactions with Helsa, in part to keep official reputations maintained and any potential public gossip nonexistent, had always existed within the realm of ‘hush-hush’. Going out into public, an activity that had been rare for them, was only ever done at a time where there would be barely anyone around who might take notice, and often with additional measures to avoid any potential looky loos.

Arriving at the von Eldritch property followed the same pattern, the most appropriate word in describing it being ‘discrete’.

Bitterness, akin to old scar, causes Angel Dust to narrow his eyes and frown.

It’s strange to him now to think about just how attached he had been to her. He’s never been able to pin down one definitive reason, but he’s held onto a theory or two in the years since then…

Perhaps it simply had to do with the f _requency_ of seeing her, the pattern of which being usually every available day off that his Overlord would allow him to have… but this is a notion that is somewhat odd to him, considering that all they did for the most part was little more than _fuck_.

When they talked – _if_ they talked, he had always avoided bringing up anything that had to do with his work with her, expanding that to include anything that involved his boss and the things he was asked to do.

In response, she didn’t bring up political matters relating to the uppermost parts of Hell’s society, which had nothing to do with nor interested him, and which he has almost purposely ignored irregardless of her decision.

Bits of small talk were _occasional_ engaged in, maybe a back and forth about something minor, but in the end, in all the time they had spent together, there wasn’t much else besides him showing up, a cooperating effort to find physical release, and then him leaving the very next day…

…so why had their breakup hurt him so badly?

Once more, he thinks of reasons that might satisfy the question, but in the meanwhile he finds that he has no trouble in actively recalling a particular memory from the relationship, of one of those rare times where they had left the house, having gone to the outskirts of Pentagram City where the urban sprawl turned to sands of alabaster before getting high while lying underneath the night sky of Hell.

They had pointed up at Heaven, focusing on its persistent place above while making jokes that mocked this or that, laughing their asses off in the meanwhile. Somewhere in-between, she had asked him what the moon and stars were like back on Earth, and he had tried his best to describe them for her.

Her interest in what he had said had seemed… _sincere_.

It’s a memory that he cannot deny has special meaning to him because of how _abnormal_ it was compared to the rest he holds of her… but it brings with it a sadness upon reflection, and in his head, he hears her using _that_ name that held weight…

_She squeezes his hand, and he glances over, receiving a lazy smile._

_“You have the stupidest… sexiest look on your face right now, Anthony...”_

_He snickers, going to stick his tongue out at her before teasing:_

_“Aww, that was almost sweet, babe… don’t tell me ya’ startin’ ta’ go soft?”_

The exhale Angel Dust then lets out is slow… and almost mournful.

He wonders if she had been the part of his afterlife that he had simply clung to in order to possess a feeling of _stability_ , his employment as a porn star being just as chaotic as the Hell that surrounded it, and also sharing the same semblance of order.

With her essentially throwing him away at the very end, in doing so destroying what had been yet _another_ false outlook of his own life that he had been holding, he had been left utterly lost and stuck with a void that had brought about his drug usage skyrocketing as he had attempted to deal with the aftermath.

Binges that had lasted days, and with very little time between them. It had led to a point where _Valentino_ had been the one expressing displeasure and telling him that he needed to slow down…

_“Moderation, Angel... ever fuckin’ hear of it? Daddy’s startin’ to worry that you’ve become just another two-bit junkie whore, and I ain’t having that shit because I need you to be able to focus on your shoots whenever I ask you to do them...”_

Getting talked to before being granted a few days off to ‘get his shit together’ had resulted in him ending up – or better put, _stumbling to_ – Cherri’s place, not much caring to follow the orders of his boss or giving two shits about his level of intake, and still fully intent on heading out to score once again… until he had been stopped from leaving just at the door.

_“…Angie, wait up for a moment, I need to talk to you. Hey, Angel, stop, I said that I need to- ANTHONY, FUCKING WAIT!”_

She had begged him… and he had been too blind to notice how much he had been hurting her with his recklessness. Somehow, he had found the strength to listen, and then even more amazingly had found the strength to say _yes_ to what she had asked.

What had followed had been the ugliness of the withdrawal process, of the associated sickness and finally the self-realization of just how fucked up he had become.

Despite his friend’s sincere empathy and generous assistance, showing no judgement towards him as he had screamed and fell apart, the displays of emotion he remembers having in front of the demoness still strike him as embarrassing and so _pathetic_ …

So much so that even at that _present_ moment, he continues to shy away from what are awful memories that he wants to be nothing more than a bad dream… and yet it was through that hardship that he managed to clean himself up.

For a time, he had been able to deal with each passing day, not always happy due to the constant bullshit, but feeling to be in a much better place than the prior low…

Then had come the backslide.

It had started with the old habits, small indulgences in the various goodies that could be found in numerous vending machines that were present on the streets of Pentagram City. All in the name of ‘recreation’ and ‘passing the time’, or so he would have explained if asked about it.

Emotional and mental fatigue eventually drove it beyond the two selected reasons, and his using had once more become the seeking of a high for the sake of being able to just _tolerate_ motivation to keep going through the afterlife. It wasn’t long before most of the progress he had made after the post-breakup detox had been pissed away.

In the end, much of it had been a fucking waste, and a part of him suspects that Cherri had chosen to believe that he was still doing fine for the most part, chalking inconsistencies of her perception to him merely stumbling every now and then.

False as the view of him was, it’s not something he’d destroy if he can help it.

But as of now though, he was nowhere near the caliber of substance abuse that he had once been consuming him, especially given that he was residing at the Happy Hotel and the major requirements involved in doing so, but there is still the existence of an internal fear that he would end up at that dangerous point again… or _worse_.

It’s why he _needs_ to end the usage of the painkillers.

And it’s why he _can’t_ afford to fuck up his current relationship with Charlie.

Sure, when it came to the Princess, what he shares with her might not have been anywhere in neighborhood of what he had with _Helsa_ , but he has since come to realize that what he does hold with her has a meaning to him in such a way that the very notion of it _ending_ fills him with a sense of dread.

In fact, it’s _almost_ enough to cause him to give into the urge of going to the current hiding spot where he keeps the pills and immediately flushing them… but the resolve he holds for doing so slips away, and Angel Dust curses at himself for being so weak.

It needs to be done… but he can’t seem to think of a time when he will do so.

A little bit unhappy, his eyes shift to the case in hand, idly popping it open to check the contents before closing it and then moving his attention the television that he had placed adjacent to his bed.

It’s decent enough, having been bought second hand from Cherri along with a few accessories, and thinking about it for a moment, it might have even been better than the one he had ‘owned’ in Val’s designated spot for him back at the Studio.

Aside from being able to play the movie that Charlie had brought, it also could be utilized for the purpose of viewing a few films of his own that he had taken with him when initially moving into the Happy Hotel.

Just those he was particularly fond of… and just for fun.

He locates the remote and turns the tv on, finding that it had been previously left on the channel that ran the 666 News.

_“-and while there might be many who are upset by Loo Loo Land burning to the ground, I say: Who cares! Most reviews called it a ‘cheap knock-off that smelled like urine and was only really used as a meetup spot for Imps to screw each other!’”_

_“Do you think they’ll even bother building another one, Katie?”_

_“Who knows, Tom! But in more interesting, breaking news, we have just gotten word that yet another building owned by Valentino, Overlord of Pentagram City’s red light district and the man behind all your favorite and depraved smut, has been presumably blown up! Thankfully, some of our in-field reporters managed to haul their asses to the scene and get us some footage of the destruction!”_

As the screen begins to display the live image of a strawberry blonde demoness holding a microphone and talking in front of a building that looked to be now nothing more than burning rubble, Angel Dust stares until his vision starts to blur.

He forces himself to blink and break the spell of paralysis, contemplating several questions that are bouncing around the inside of his head. All of them hold a relation to his boss and the information just presented, and fight against each other as he finds no answers but more just like them.

Was this why Val hadn’t come around looking for him? _Another_ building? How many others were there…? Who was behind it? Did Val know? What had he-

A limo that is far too familiar comes into view, causing his mind to become devoid of all thought as it pulls up while the reporter’s cameraman points toward it. A single figure, very tall and very much known to Angel, steps out and begins to survey what was left of the burning structure.

Fear, palpable and threatening, steadily grows as the news crew begins to move closer to the moth demon, the shrinking distance corelating with the world narrowing further and further until it only seems to encompass the events that are transpiring on screen.

_“Mister Valentino! Mister Valentino! 666 News – any comment on what looks to be another bombing of one of your businesses?”_

Several imps in firefighter gear are frantically running in random directions in the background, a gathered crowd of onlookers being nearby while the just named individual stares at the inferno… unhappiness and irritation are visibly etched on his face for all to see as his heart shaped glasses are cast in the glow from the flames.

_“…just some fuckin’ punk looking for an ass-fuckin’ that they ain’t never gonna’ fuckin’ forget.”_

Even if he was nowhere near to the hotel, and even if it’s just through speakers, just hearing his boss’s voice in real time is enough to bring out a need to hide.

The quality of it has always reminded Angel Dust of cigarettes and ash trays, being slightly dry and gravelly while hinting that it could slip lower for the purpose of giving threats or making comments with lecherous intent.

Both scenarios are not unfamiliar in the slightest.

_“Does it have anything to do with the rumors that Triple Vs have split up and that you and Overlord Vox are no longer working together?”_

At the question, the spider demon watches as Valentino’s attention instantly snaps to the field reporters, the Overlord’s expression being one of disbelief… but then fury erupts on his face as he bares his teeth. One of his hands reaches back behind him, suddenly wielding a revolver that is raised and pointed in an extremely specific direction…

The demoness holding the microphone is already fleeing while the individual who had been filming her frantically turns to follow suit.

_“OH FUCK!”_

_“SHIT! No no no n-”_

There are several loud gunshots, the camera spinning through the air before violently and abruptly impacting the ground as its operator, now missing a large and noticeable portion of his skull, falls into the focus of the cracked lens.

Various chunks of brain matter, bone, and blood are splattered outward from the origin point of a gaping exit wound. Eyes, devoid of any life, stare blankly ahead before video feed observing the deceased abruptly cuts back to Katie Killjoy and Tom Trench.

Both begin to laugh, the former shaking her head and commenting:

_“It looks like we might have some brand-new openings here at the 666 News team! We often tell our staff that gossip is trouble… but some people just have to learn the lesson the hard way!”_

_“Speaking of ‘hard’, we have an upcoming special segment on the daily life of a succubus, including an interview with the famous-”_

From the way his heart is racing, it feels like he had just bumped a line of coke… perhaps two.

As he fumbles for the mute button, the shaking hand that holds the remote remains upright as Angel tries to keep what must be an oncoming panic attack from overwhelming the entirety of his sanity. It is at the same time he registers that room has grown uncomfortably quiet, and he becomes aware of the very audible sound of his own breathing.

He’s seen Val do worse… so much worse, and while also having been standing right next to him at the time to witness it. If anything, getting a bullet from the moth demon’s revolver was mercy, because the preferences that his Overlord liked to utilize in order to draw out suffering were intertwined with what felt like a need to indulge in a sadistic rush.

There’s a certain, _horrifying_ amazement for Angel in having found out just how much a person’s body could be torn open and removed without actually killing them…

_Stop – ya’ ain’t in danger, ya’ safe here with tha’ Princess. Keep yaself’ together._

Briefly, he closes his eyes, finding a source of a calm by focusing his thoughts on Charlie, and remembering that she would be back soon enough. Regardless of what was afflicting his mental state, the evening would continue on, and for _her_ sake and what she has already done for him, he has to put his own problems away.

What is happening out there, beyond the hotel’s walls, cannot be what takes up his focus…

At least for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been awhile!
> 
>  **Put simply:** the end of 2020 was very hectic for me, and I didn't have as much time as I would have hoped to work on Praxis.
> 
>  **Bad News First:** I've split this chapter up, and delayed the release of chapter nine. It's been so long since I updated, and I decided that it had been _too_ long, therefore I am posting chapter 8 as it currently stands, and will combine the second half with chapter 9, which will feature adult content. My apologies to anyone anxiously waiting to read it. I understand, I do. I really want to put it out there, just it's not ready YET.
> 
>  **Now the Good News:** Because I am splitting the chapter, and because of how I initially wanted to release chapter 8 and 9 _together_ , a lot of the content is already written. Therefore, and I don't like normally giving an estimation for each update, ~~I am aiming for a Sunday-Monday release.~~ The longest estimation I have is still before Valentine's Day though should this not occur.
> 
> ( **Edit 2/8/2021:** Well, I knew it was a bad idea to give THAT estimation. Apologies! Still confident the next chapter will come out before the secondary estimation.)
> 
> Update has a few things in it, aspects of Angel Dust's character (his "name" by the way is official information), a line or two related to another one of Vivzie's projects. Hopefully it works! Every so often, I will re-watch all of Angel's scenes to try and make sure his speech pattern and mannerisms are correct. 
> 
> It's not that I believe there is one style of Angel Dust, because I personally enjoy two different types of interpretations, like **Bookworm4567's** Angel in **"Threes A Crowd"** (updated same day as Praxis, which I had been waiting for, so make sure you give that story a read!), and also **Starlight1395's** Angel in **"More than What You See"**.
> 
> For whatever it's worth, I will mention that I hold a certain mental layout of Pentagram City in relation to what is Hell's layout according to Vivzie. For me, Imp City is "nearby", and across a bridge, but the feature of a surrounding desert is actually inspired by Paradigm City from "Big O". I'm treating Pentagram City as the most "popular" place in-universe for the world of Hazbin.
> 
> (...had a few amusing thoughts of comparing Pentagram City to ANOTHER city in recent medium. I don't think we want a "Angel Silverhand" situation, though.)
> 
>  **Also:** I am updating prior chapters - dialogue corrections such as Angel's accent being more consistent, which not every "ing" is abbreviated, and not every "you/you're" is too, alongside reworking/expanding of a few things - because in truth, my writing style has evolved a little bit since starting this. Was out of practice for awhile before it, and this is also being done in preparation for porting the story elsewhere. 
> 
> Updated chapters will be marked with a date and **"Revised"** in the author's note.
> 
> Thank you for your patience, everyone! Hope you're all doing well!  
> And thank you, once again, for all your kudos and comments! It is appreciated!


End file.
